


Look down just to see how it feels

by becka



Series: Hold me closer in the night [2]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Closeted Character, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 17:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15868680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: Niall's never dated a man, but the more he sees Nick, the more that seems to be exactly what he's doing. Even if they don't call it that.FollowsHold me closer in the night.





	Look down just to see how it feels

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is scaffolded by actual events, but it is absolutely fictional.
> 
> Betaed by [Lucy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully), who is an angel (although not as much of an angel as Niall). Any remaining mistakes are my own. <33

Niall keeps expecting an accusatory text from Harry, or a dad-ish "I'm not angry I'm just disappointed". But there's nothing except the usual nonsense. They keep missing each other in London, and it's a bit of a relief when Harry leaves again because Niall doesn't think he could keep it entirely off his face that he skipped out of Harry's movie party to fuck Harry's good mate. Nick texts him too: _Playing your song on the radio! Sounds great!_ And he says thanks like he would to anyone, feeling inadequate and off-kilter.

He sends Nick tickets to his London gig as though that makes up for his lukewarm responses over the last couple of weeks. And he doesn’t even put them in the post himself, although he does scribble “Would be grand to see you xx” on a sticky note for his assistant to slip in the envelope. Two kisses can’t possibly be too much for someone who’s been inside you, but it worries at him anyway when he imagines an intern at Radio 1 opening the mail. Still it’s too late to do anything about it now, and he’ll know Nick got the tickets if he turns up to the show.

Except that two days later he’s got a new text off Nick.

_Thanks for the tickets! Come round for your tea some night while you're here? xx_

Niall's left this message for over 24 hours already, but he keeps looking at it and feeling his stomach fizz with nerves. It would be a date, no matter how Nick tries to downplay it, and Niall's never been on a date with a man, but he can't stop thinking about it. It would probably be nice. It probably wouldn't be that different from spending the day with Nick back in July. But he can't make himself write back. He leaves it until he feels sick knowing it's sitting on his phone, and then he says, _I'm free on Tuesday if you like. Are you coming to the show?_

Nick replies yes and adds two dancing lady emojis. Before Niall can close the message, he starts typing again and Niall watches the little dots flash. _Looking forward to it, mate. Come round at 7 on Wednesday. Anything you'd like for your tea?_

_I'm easy._

_Thought you'd say that._ This is followed by an aubergine emoji, which would be just a laugh from anyone else. Christ, he's never had sex with a man who had his phone number.

 

He doesn't want to dress up, but he puts on nice underwear just in case and does his hair properly instead of shoving it under a cap. He buys a six-pack of beer and drives to Nick's through the crush of rush hour traffic.

Nick holds back the sniffing, wagging dogs with one foot wedged against the doorframe and says, “We’re all really excited to see you.” He’s got on ripped jeans and shirt open enough at the collar to show off his chest hair. Niall wants to rub his face just there, breathe Nick in from really close up.

Instead he laughs and steps inside and lets the dogs circle him, sniffing intently at his shoes. Nick gives him the kind of casual one-armed hug he’s got on the radio before, and Niall doesn’t want to be disappointed, but he is, down in the pit of his stomach. “Let’s get you a drink then. Food’s nearly ready.” He takes the six pack out of Niall’s hand, and the two of them plus the dogs make a tidy little procession down the hall. There’s music playing in the kitchen, so quiet that Niall can’t recognise it at first before it resolves itself into the new Haim album.

Niall sits down at the kitchen table while Nick makes up plates, rolling a beer bottle between his hands while Nick talks to the dogs who’ve gathered at his feet. “You’re spoiled absolutely rotten. You’ve had your dinner and you’re being rude in front of our guest. He’s going to think terrible things about you.”

“Does that stop them?” Niall asks.

“Not a bloody chance.” He does a neat little hop around Stinky and sets a plate in front of Niall. Flaky white fish and sautéed spinach and rice with little flecks of yellow and green in.

“Looks nice. Thanks for cooking.”

Nick sits down across from him and stretches his legs out so their feet touch under the table. “It was dead easy.” He sips his beer, and they eat in silence for a minute. “So you ready for your tour then?”

“Bricking it, actually. I don’t even know why I said okay to a tour that starts before the album’s out. No one’s going to know any of the songs.” His throat starts to close up when he thinks too hard about it, the outside possibility that all his songs are shit and no one’s had the heart to tell him.

“They know you though. They already know that they like you and like your singing and think you’re cute and everything.”

Niall looks away from Nick. “I don’t know if that’s enough.” He swigs his beer and swallows dryly.

“I think you’re cute too, for what it’s worth.”

He gives a flustered little cough. It’s not as though none of his friends take the piss about him being a heartthrob, but he hasn’t had sex with them. “Worth a fair bit,” Niall says quietly. “But it won’t help me on tour.” 

“You’ll do alright. I’m more worried about our Harold tripping off stage with none of the rest of you to catch him.”

“He’s got a new band now. I’m sure they’ve been briefed.” Niall looks down at his plate, but he can’t make himself take another bite. “Speaking of Harold, I had been wondering how he doesn’t know certain things as well.”

“Because I haven’t told him, and I assume you haven’t. And Pig’s not one for gossip.”

“But you’ve spoken to him? Since then?” He stumbles a little over the “since then” as though he should be able to say “since we had sex” or something more specific, but describing that night, even just to himself, trips him up inside.

“Of course I’ve spoken to him. We talk, but not about that. You?”

“Yeah. Not about that.”

“If you want to tell him, you should. I think he’d like to hear it from you. More or less.” Nick eyes him pointedly, and Niall can just about imagine the things Harry’s said to him. Harry’s always wanted everyone else’s secrets, and in the end, Niall probably would have told him everything if he hadn’t wanted it so bad. There’s a mean little thrill in not giving Harry exactly what he wants.

“Maybe,” Niall says. He can’t quite picture how that would fit into their fractured little email conversations, Louis and Liam looped in and then out almost arbitrarily. Niall’s sure the other lads do the same to him, cutting him out of stuff sometimes, bringing him back in. He wonders what would happen if he sent an email to the three of them that said, by the way, lads, I’m gay and I fucked Nick Grimshaw. Sorry for the late notice. But he wouldn’t. He’s never been that type of reckless.

Nick pauses for a second, like Niall might have more to say, then smooths right over the gap. “Have you got a lot of people coming for your London show? Or Dublin? I always think, if I ever had some sort of real talent that people paid money to see, I’d have to buy out a whole section in Manchester for all my aunties and things.”

“I’ve got a few coming. My mates from back home are coming to Dublin, some of them. And my parents. There aren’t as many in London, but there are some. You can bring who you like as well, as long as they don’t boo.”

“Should I bring a date?” Nick asks, and Niall’s face prickles with unexpected heat. “Is it going to be very romantic?”

“Romantic’s probably not the word I’d use.” It’s strange to think about Nick hearing all his heartbreak songs, lyrics covering all the inevitable failure of trying to be someone he’s not, building up a version of himself that’s easier to love but also easier to leave. “I don’t think you should bring a date.”

“Box of tissues then?”

“Well, my mum cried when I played the album for her, but that’s different, isn’t it?”

Nick looks thoughtful. “Is your mum a big crier?”

“Not compared to some.”

“I’ve heard the stories about Liam’s.”

“From Harry?”

“And it was in your film, I think. Anyway, nothing wrong with a few tears of pride when someone you love does something special.”

“I don’t think you’ll cry,” Niall says, and Nick looks at him like there’s something to decipher in that one sentence. “It’s just navel-gazey pop songs.”

“Navel-gazey pop songs are one of the best things to cry over. If they’re good. Or absolutely awful. Or you’re hungover.”

“Gig’s at 7pm. If you’re hungover then, you might want to have a look at your life.” 

Nick laughs, and it turns out if this is what a date with a man is like, it isn’t so bad at all.

 

He forgets that he’s meant to go to Radio 1 and talk to Nick the next day. Or he’s had it on the calendar and he goes through the motions of putting on a shirt and doing his hair, but he doesn’t quite absorb that he’ll have to sit in a room and speak to Nick about his music as though he didn’t have Nick’s dick in his mouth 24 hours ago. He walks through the corridor from the lift, and none of the vaguely familiar people he sees know he’s slept with their breakfast show presenter. Nick comes out of the studio to hug him and doesn’t playact like it’s been months since they last saw each other, and it makes it easier for Niall to act normal, even if Nick’s hand sitting briefly between his shoulder blades stirs him up inside.

“Do you want to grab a bite after we finish here?” Nick asks, before Niall’s even settled in his chair, and he nods without really thinking about it.

“Sure. I’m free all afternoon.” Nick’s producer is shuffling papers on the desk and doesn’t even look up, but Niall can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. Does he seem any different? “Ready for a grilling on the air before then?” Nick says cheerfully. “I thought we’d start with foreign policy, maybe a bit of hard science, just for interest.”

“And you’re calling that an interview rather than a failed quiz show, are you?”

“Both, innit?” Nick grins at him, and he grins back, but even smiling too wide makes him feel self-conscious, like he might be found out at any moment.

Nick asks him about his tour, makes interested noises about the schedule and the places Niall’s going as though he hasn’t heard it all before. They talk a little about the album and Niall thinks he’s got his story pretty much worked out, a neat little narrative about looking back on his life with new, adult eyes. He’s not sure if Nick buys it, but they can probably edit out some of Nick’s more incredulous noises before it goes on the air. Nick doesn’t touch his personal life—not that he would, but Niall always worries. Someday someone’s going to ask him about it. And it’s not as though he can’t lie, after lying by omission for such a long time, but it’s one more story to make up, one more thing to remember.

He came into Radio 1 with his PA and someone from his label, but he leaves with just Nick. He tries not to wonder what anyone makes of that.

 

"Need to stop doing this on weeknights," Niall murmurs into Nick's pillow at 5am, just as though they're going to spend the night together regularly. It sends his skin crawling, just a bit, when he realises how comfortable he is, how much he's letting himself like this, looking forward to the next time already.

Nick kisses his cheek and rolls off the other side of the bed. "You can stay if you like. My housemate isn't even here today. It'd be just you and the dogs."

It sounds so nice that Niall's immediate denial sticks in his mouth. He watches Nick go into the en-suite through one half-open eye and he doesn't want to fling himself out into the world just yet. He's got rehearsal later, but he could have the morning here in the quiet of Nick's house, no one knowing where he is. He shuts his eyes again and burrows his face into the pillow, which smells like Nick’s cologne and unfamiliar laundry soap.

The shower comes on, and Niall imagines stepping into it with Nick, the sort of everyday intimacy he’s never had before. He climbs out of bed and gets as far as the bathroom doorway before he loses his nerve. Nick hasn’t invited that from him, even if he’s asked Niall to stay. Niall feels incriminated by his own reflection in the mirror, and he splashes warm water on his face for an excuse to be in the bathroom at all. He brushes his teeth to the sound of running water on Nick’s bare skin and the tuneless blur of Nick’s singing voice. It takes a long minute before Niall realises Nick’s butchering _his_ song in the shower, and he thinks he should say something, contemplates it around a mouthful of toothpaste until the water thuds off and Nick steps out from behind the shower door, still humming.

“Gunning for a spot on the tour, are you?” Niall says, as Nick rubs himself down with a towel.

“I wouldn’t want to steal your spotlight,” Nick replies. “My singing is world-renowned already.” Nick steps close to him, puts a hand casually on his shoulder. “You haven’t got dressed and flown out the door yet.”

“Thought I might stay the morning. If that’s all right.”

“That’s great. I’ll give the dogs their brekkie before I go. Do you want me to show you how to do the coffeemaker?”

Niall intends to say no, but if he’s going to stay, he might as well have a cup of coffee in Nick’s garden as well. So he lets himself be wrapped in a silky kimono-esque robe from the bathroom and ushered downstairs.

It’s not that complicated, but he watches Nick’s hands through the motions, feeling suddenly more awake. Maybe he could stay long enough for them to have sex again when Nick gets home, or if not, maybe he could come round some other day and… it’s too easy to imagine. Niall realises Nick has asked him something and is waiting for an answer.

“Sorry,” says Niall. “I got distracted.”

Nick looks him up and down, smiling a little. “I understand.” He puts a hand on Niall’s hip, only the silky, insubstantial robe between Nick’s palm and his skin. His body hums with sudden desire. “Do you need anything else before I go?” Nick asks for what must be the second time, and Niall looks away. He’s never been this person in the morning, and he doesn’t know how to do it.

“I’m alright. Thanks.”

“I’ll give you the keys in case you need to go off and do popstar things before I’m back.” He slips a ring with two keys on off the cluster in his hand. “This one’s the Yale lock on top, and this one’s the other. You can hang onto them if you want and I’ll get them back at the show.”

Niall nods, holding the keys in his palm, wondering at Nick’s easy trust. He’s given out keys to his flat to his cousins, but that’s different. That’s family. And he’s had to take some of them back if they couldn’t behave like humans when they were there on their own. “Thanks,” he says again, inadequately.

Nick leans down to kiss him, soft at the corner of his mouth and then again properly. “I’ll see you later.”

Niall’s gone before he gets back, and he considers leaving a note but decides to text instead. When he leaves, he takes Nick’s keys with him instead of chucking them through the letter slot like he’d planned. He can bring them to the gig, in case Nick asks for them. 

 

Nick texts him a picture of his own stage while he's sat in the dressing room. _Maybe the first time I've been on time to a gig in me life_ , says the accompanying message, _Better be good. :)_ Niall's skin tingles, cheeks and fingertips and the backs of his knees, as he thinks about asking Nick back here. There's ten minutes to the opener. He could ask Nick to blow him before he goes on, proper rockstar stuff. He's had sex in venues before, a couple of times, but that was in the labyrinthine underbelly of an arena, not this single cramped hallway.

 _Come backstage after and let me know if I owe you your money back_ , Niall replies finally. It doesn't commit him to anything, but if Nick says he will, there's a possibility. Nick sends back a thumbs up.

Niall is too nervous about too many other things while he's on, so he doesn't even think to look for Nick until he's standing side of stage before the encore. He's up in the balcony somewhere, shadowy and distant, and Niall glances that way, remembering the angle of Nick’s photo. He thinks he sees him, a tall figure up against the railing, and he shuts his eyes through the last chorus. The noise of the crowd washes over him, and he turns back to the band, grinning. They’ve got months of this ahead of them, the vibrant energy that fills up a room, and it’s special enough without Niall thinking of other things.

Niall’s dressing room is shared with the whole band, and he’s not sure if the tiny dripping shower even works right, so he’s still sweaty and wild-eyed and surrounded by guys who know him too well when Nick appears at the door along with a clamouring bunch of Niall’s cousins and Irish ex-pat friends. Nick sticks out, or maybe that’s just in Niall’s mind because his eyes latch onto Nick’s and it takes him a long moment to look away.

He hugs Laura first, then Deo, before making his way to Nick. “Grimmy, you came!” he yells, as though it’s a pleasant surprise, going up on his toes for a hug and counting a single beat before letting go. 

Nick pats his shoulder in a mate-y way. “You were dead good out there,” he says. “Quality popstarring.”

Niall waits for someone to say “what’s Nick Grimshaw doing here?” but it’s not so farfetched that they’re friends, so no one questions it, and Nick slips right in to chatting with the lads in the band about other gigs. The crowd fills the room, heat and humid sweat and noise and elbows connecting awkwardly, until Niall can feel panic starting to crawl up the back of his throat. Either he has to get out, or everyone else does. He looks round for Nick but can’t see him, so the thought of signalling that they could get out of here together is dashed. Instead he puts his head down and weaves his way to the door and out into the hallway, which is full of the echoes of conversation but cooler. Niall leans his head back against the wall, although the clammy cement just reminds him how much he wants a shower.

“Hey,” says Nick, and Niall startles, flinching away from the wall and opening his eyes.

“Hey,” he replies, trying to remember what a normal speaking distance is because all he wants is to do is bury his face in the collar of Nick’s shirt and breathe him in, maybe with Nick’s hands on his waist holding him just as tight.

“Are you leaving or just getting away for a minute?”

“Just getting away for a minute. Can’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Nick holds his eyes, and it’s so blatant he prays that no one follows him out into the hallway because Nick might as well have him pinned against the wall. “But you’re headed home soon?”

“Yeah, I think so. Not many chances to be in my own bed for a while. I should take the opportunity. And my cousin would wonder, if I went somewhere else.” He hopes his body’s telegraphing that he wants to, that if going home with Nick were easy, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He thinks wildly about places they could go to be alone together, properly alone, enough to get Nick’s hands on him the way he wants, but it’s a small venue and he doesn’t know it well. He looks up and down the hallway, slightly desperate, knows Nick can see his thoughts all over his face. He lingers while Niall deliberates. But even the door down the hall that’s obviously a broom cupboard seems like too much of a risk. “I’m sorry,” says Niall finally.

“Nowt to be sorry for. I should be getting home now though. It’s a school night after all.” He looks up and down the empty hallway, then at the closed dressing room door. Then he puts one hand on Niall’s shoulder, thumb resting at the base of neck, just above his collar. He leans in to kiss Niall’s cheek, quick and gentle. It’s too little, with Niall’s skin buzzing from that contact alone, and Niall turns to nuzzle at his face, tip his mouth up for a real kiss, stealing a moment more. Their lips meet and part and Nick licks at Niall’s lower lip before he pulls back. Niall’s cheeks are hot, and he wants so badly to follow Nick, to pull him close again. 

“Thanks for coming,” Niall says instead.

“Anytime.” He takes a step back, eyes still on Niall’s face. “Goodnight, love.”

“I’ll give you a call next time I’m in town.”

“Good.” 

The dressing room door opens, and a few people spill out, arguing over sharing cabs, hugging Niall goodnight. The girls all kiss him on the cheek, but it’s thoughtless and easy, and he doesn’t think of the weight of their lips afterwards. He doesn’t see Nick leave.

 

Niall’s bothered to show up to Harry's show, which buys him Harry's arms flung around his neck once he's schmoozed all the other people waiting backstage for him. "I'm so glad you came, Niall," he says, so sincerely it sounds like a lie. But maybe that's unkind. Niall's already on edge, waiting for Harry to figure him out. He tells Harry how brilliant he was, hoping he sounds like he means it, because he does, even if it aches a little, seeing Harry up there on his own.

"Come back to mine, okay? Can you?"

Niall nods. He expects it'll be a party, a crowd he can sneak out of early. He's got a show tomorrow after all. But when he finally gets through the gate, his is the only car in the drive. Harry meets him at the door, damp hair and bare feet like the old days.

"Where's the rest of your entourage?" Niall asks.

Harry grins. "Where's the rest of yours?"

Niall looks around himself, feigning surprise. "They were just here."

Harry laughs and lets him in. Niall hasn't been to this particular house before, and there's so little that's familiar in it. All of Harry's furniture is new, although one of the paintings in the lounge looks like one at Nick's. Niall stops to stare at it.

"Isn't that great?" Harry says. "I had it in storage in London, but it seemed sad, keeping it there."

"Is it part of a set?" Niall asks, seeing the trajectory of the conversation like a nosedive. He shoves his hands in his pockets, ignoring the tremble in his fingers.

Harry nods, still looking at the painting even though Niall's turned towards him. "A series. Nick's got one. Nick Grimshaw."

"Yeah," says Niall. "I've seen it." It's in Nick's bedroom. He doesn't know if that means something.

"You were at Nick's?"

"Yeah, a few times, this summer. We kept running into each other, so we started hanging out on purpose."

"I don't think I knew that." He glances at Niall, and he doesn't look upset, but he looks a little worried, like he can't figure out why he's been left out. The silence is a beat too long while Harry worries his lower lip with his teeth.

Niall shrugs. "You have anything to drink?"

"Beer? Or do you want something stronger?"

"Beer's okay." The kitchen is just another part of the same big open plan floor. Harry gets two beers out of the fridge. Niall still carries a bottle opener on his keys.

"Niall, did something weird just happen?" Harry asks, holding his beer loosely in one hand, not drinking it. “With the painting, and Nick, it just seemed like… I don’t know.”

The air is electric with the thing Niall's about to say, and Niall wonders if Harry can feel it too. "I'm gay." It’s just the way he always imagined saying it to someone, with a percussive force like a mic drop, but Harry just looks sadder, turns inward a little more.

“Did you tell Nick and not me?”

“Nick’s gay. And I have just told you.”

“I’m not, like, I’m not not gay. You could have said something.”

He’s not saying the right thing, asking the questions Niall wants to answer, and everything’s always been a little too much about Harry, but not this. Harry can’t have this. “I saw the pair to that painting when I went home with him after your premiere.”

That’s enough to make Harry set down his beer. He looks at the painting again instead of at Niall. “We’ve talked since then. You and me. Me and Nick. No one said anything.”

Niall remembers Harry texting the night of the premiere, the way their phones lit up at the same time, the chill Niall felt thinking of Harry knowing. It’s less scary in real life, but sadder. “I didn’t know what to say to you,” Niall tells him honestly.

“You didn’t think I’d freak out, did you? It’s not a big deal, is it?”

Niall wants to say, _Only because you’re making it one_ , but that’s not exactly true. “I never told anyone. Before Nick, I mean. I’ve always kept it private.”

Harry sucks at his lower lip. “But you decided to tell Nick? You ran into him at the premiere and went home with him, and you thought you’d drop your big secret on him? Like, to impress him or?”

Anger fizzes in Niall’s belly, but he needs to be calm. He needs to guard his high ground. “It wasn’t like that. We talked before. And I thought he’d understand.” He folds his arms across his chest. “He did understand.” He swallows down the other things he could say about Nick, how comfortable he makes Niall feel, how easy it is to spend time with him, how long it’s been since Niall had that.

“He’s great like that,” says Harry, edgy. “He makes you want to tell him things. I’m glad you got to have someone to tell things to, if you needed it.” He looks at Niall, disappointment all over his face, and Niall misses just being friends with Harry, the way they used to understand each other.

“Thanks.” Niall swallows and tries to make his next words lighter. “This still makes you only the second person I’ve told. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“It’s not about me,” Harry says loftily, picking up his beer again, but it rings false. “I just feel like I’ve done something wrong. We were together all the time. And I suspected, but I didn’t ask. It isn’t new, right? You’ve known for a while?”

“Yeah.” 

“Would you have told me if I’d asked?”

Niall shakes his head. “I don’t know. There was a bit of me that wanted you to figure it out, so that I never had to say anything.”

“Did Nick ask you? He asked me if you were, and I couldn’t tell him.”

Niall tries to keep the surprise off his face. “When?”

“Dunno. June, maybe?”

“Why?”

Harry shrugs, his eyes keen. He’s got the edge now, and Niall wishes they could have a conversation that didn’t feel so much like competition. “He met some guy who said he knew you were, and he’d seen you somewhere. And Nick wanted to know if it was true.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I didn’t think I’d know one way or the other.” Harry walks over to a velvet sofa by the painting that matches Nick’s, and he doesn’t quite fling himself dramatically onto it, but it’s nearly that. Niall joins him, settling into the curve of the arm at the opposite end. “I said you kept a lot to yourself.”

“It’s only because I never know what to say.”

Harry gives him a hard, knowing look. “It’s not.” Harry sits up a bit, as though he’s about to impart some important knowledge. “You’re allowed to not want people to know things, but you ought to admit it to yourself that that’s the reason. You owe yourself that honesty.”

Niall just stares at him for a moment. “’You owe yourself that honesty’? Harry, mate, that’s the most Hollywood thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you’ve talked to me about getting kale stuck in the blades of your blender.”

Harry blinks, and Niall wonders if he’s about to get tossed out of Harry’s house. But then he grins, a proper sheepish smile. “Fine. I’m not wrong though. You’ve got plenty figured out, and you keep it to yourself so well that everyone thinks you’ve got nothing to hide.”

“We can’t all be international men of mystery, Haz, making people speculate.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, posing with his fingers curved around the crown of his head, elbow pointed dramatically in the air. “Maybe I just don’t know though. I’m not like you. If I’m honest, maybe I don’t know if I like boys.”

“I reckon there are some about who’d be willing to help you test that out if you’re really concerned by it.”

“I don’t need to test it. I’m done testing it. I just want to know now. I want to know how much I have to like a boy before it counts.”

Niall sighs and just about manages not to roll his eyes. Harry always has to make things bloody complicated. “You know how much you like girls, don’t you?”

“I know it’s not as much as that. But it’s not nothing. When I used to…” Harry cuts himself off with a sharp look in Niall’s direction that’s obviously about Nick, and Niall files it away to obsess over later. “Anyway, sometimes I would do stuff with guys and I liked it, but I don’t think about it much. Is that enough?”

Niall can’t imagine trying to add his life up like that, wanting maths to make him something other than straight. “I’m not the judge of it. It’s got to come from you in the end. You choose, if there’s a choice you have to make. And you live with it.”

“Do you ever, like, picture settling down with someone? Like, making a life with someone?”

“No,” Niall answers honestly. 

Harry looks taken aback, but he soldiers on. “I always picture it with a woman. Is that wrong?” He makes an uncertain little hand motion, like he’s shoving the words away. “I don’t expect you to know. I just keep thinking about it. Nick would laugh if I told him.”

Niall doesn’t think Nick would laugh if Niall said something like that, but his friendship with Harry is different. “It’s alright if you’re straight too though,” Niall says, treading carefully as the conversation bends down an unexpected path. “Lots of people are, in this day and age.”

That coaxes most of a smile out of Harry. “I don’t want to be.”

“I don’t want to be gay.”

“Even now? Even though you and Nick…”

“Me and Nick are mates. And I’m glad to have him. But it’s not as though we’re getting married.” It sits on his tongue like a lie even though it’s the truth. “I’d rather not have to keep any secrets.”

“You still have to keep secrets. They’re just different ones. You can’t get out of that in our line of work.”

“Maybe not. But I’d trade those secrets for mine.”

Harry reaches out for his hand across the length of the sofa, and Niall takes it. “I’m sorry,” Harry says, and it reminds Niall of the very beginning, when Harry came to visit him at home and most of what he said was touches and gestures as much as words.

“I’m okay. And I’m glad you know now.”

They talk that night until talking is easy again, later than Niall intended to stay, but he feels lighter for it.

 

On the way back to London in December, he puts together a list of things he’ll do before he phones Nick and he intends to stick to it. Although he turns his phone back on as soon as he hits the ground at Heathrow, the only text he looks at is one from Willie saying he won’t be home tonight, but he’s free tomorrow to catch up. Orderly, easy, but almost enough to make Niall rethink his list and ask Nick over. It’s hard not to think about it, the sex that could be on offer if he only asked, the gentle weight of Nick’s arm around his waist as they both fall asleep. They’ve been texting and talking on the phone a bit over the tour, becoming friends who talk as well as friends who fuck, but Nick’s never been to Niall’s flat. It’s the sort of imbalance he’d usually try to correct with a mate, but if he had Nick round, he’d want to snog him against every wall and ride him in every armchair, and there’d hardly be a moment at home after that where he wouldn’t feel the echo of having done it. Maybe there will be a day when he’s ready for that, or in the distant future perhaps even a day he’ll tell Willie the truth. But today isn’t it.

He goes home just long enough to set down his suitcase and grab his car keys, resisting the temptation to sink into the sofa and not get up for 24 hours. He goes to the supermarket and buys himself a steak for dinner and the sort of odds and ends he knows won’t be in the house after he’s been away, and he hauls it all back home whilst speaking to his stylist on hands-free in the car about clothes for the proper tour in the spring. It’s all very efficient, but as soon as he’s put the shopping away, the exhaustion hits him, hard and sudden, along with the melting relief of being in his own house.

He flops down onto the sofa and phones the only person he actually wants to talk to.

“Hiya, love,” Nick says, cheerful and easy, and Niall shuts his eyes and curls around a throw pillow, gripping it to his chest. He feels like he’s achieved some kind of goal.

“Hey,” says Niall, and then he can’t think of anything else. He’s not even sure why phoning Nick felt so important, only that it’s been months of being lonely and horny in hotels, wanting things he absolutely couldn’t have.

“You made it back to London then?”

“Yeah. I’m fucking wiped.”

“Do you want to come round for your tea? I could do you something nice. Proper motherly, me, when I put me mind to it.”

It sounds nice, but inertia keeps him flat. “I don’t think I’m going out again. Could you maybe just talk to me?”

Nick’s smile is the kind you can hear. “Of course. Have you got a preference on the topic?”

“Not at all,” says Niall. The relief of being home and being free not to leave again for a while is hitting him in waves now.

“Right. Well, Pig and Stinky and I have just been out in the park, and this little old lady came up, and she said, Oh, what lovely dogs, and they sniffed her all around and didn’t even try to jump on her, and I was feeling so proud of them for not being horrible. And then I told her their names. And I don’t know if she misheard or she’s just really sensitive, because she sort of frowned and stuck out her chin and said, well you needn’t be rude about it, and sort of trundled off. And we all stood there sort of shell-shocked for a minute. Well I was, anyway. The dogs couldn’t’ve cared less.”

Niall laughs and shuts his eyes.

 

He goes round to Nick’s a lot in the weeks before Christmas, when Nick’s housemate’s away and it can be just them and the dogs and the telly Nick’s watching on catchup. It doesn’t even matter much what it is. Watching _Strictly_ with Nick is easy, so comfortable that Niall’s anxious brain can’t quite accept the reality of it. He starts to fidget, but it doesn’t help, just makes Nick ask if something’s wrong, if he wants to switch spots on the sofa.

"Have you had sex with Harry?" Niall asks, because it's been eating away at him for months, stupid and jealous in his belly, and it feels so easy to make that part Nick's problem instead.

"For a loose definition of sex," Nick replies. He keeps his arm tucked casually around Niall's waist. "He wasn't exactly choosy back in the day."

Niall knows that. He knows that very well. "Was it a lot?"

Nick seems like he's about to answer, but then he sighs. "You can't compare it to this. It's just a stupid thing that happens with your friends sometimes. That's all it was."

"Not with my friends." He doesn't mean it to sound bleak, but Nick nuzzles at the back of his neck like he might want comfort. There's the other part though, the comparing it part, like maybe “this”, whatever it is where he's tucked between Nick's legs watching _Strictly_ , is something other than incidental.

"If you'd been my friend then..." Nick begins, dragging his fingers under the hem of Niall's jumper.

He wouldn't have been Nick's friend then. He wouldn't have known how. He smiles instead of saying it, but it feels wooden, automatic, and he doesn’t know if Nick knows him well enough to tell. If he were Harry, Nick would know straight off. He’s never felt competitive with Harry about music stuff because there’s nothing Harry can’t win if he wants it, but Niall wants to win this. “I don’t know why it bothers me,” he admits finally.

Nick goes ahead and pauses _Strictly_. “It’s the sort of thing that bothers people, when you’re all sleeping with each other’s friends. You can’t not feel it, and if you hold it in it’ll be worse in the end.”

“I’ve never been like that,” Niall says, and Nick’s fingers slide further up his belly, spreading against his bare skin under his t-shirt. It’s so casually intimate that Niall can’t even move.

“From what I understand, you haven’t had the chance. But you could start now. You’re young yet. There’s time for all sorts of absolute nonsense.”

Niall hesitates for a second, nearly doesn’t say it. “What if I don’t want nonsense? What if I just want something nice?” He doesn’t mean Nick, exactly, but _Strictly_ and the sofa, and a hand under his shirt like it belongs there.

“Sometimes the nonsense comes with it, whether you want it or not. But if you have something nice, it balances out. Maybe. Hopefully.” Nick’s thumb swipes ticklishly up towards his ribs, and Niall squirms a little, acutely aware of the way Nick’s thighs bracket him, the way his movement grinds him back against Nick’s groin. “Do you fancy going up to bed after this one?” Nick asks, gesturing at the TV as he restarts the episode.

“Yeah,” says Niall, feeling just a little calmer, a little more able to breathe.

 

Niall sometimes says to himself, “I’m a model now,” looking in the mirror and trying to make his hair stand up the way he likes, but he feels absolutely ludicrous doing it into the front-facing camera of his phone on the way to a reception for men’s fashion week. He’s wearing a sharp navy suit with a plaid pocket square to give it some interest, but he’s got this sick, unsettled feeling that Harry might be there in brocade and gold, drawing every eye in the room. They haven’t really talked lately, so little that he’s not even sure what continent Harry’s on, which doesn’t feel good, but every time Niall thinks of getting in touch, a little part of his brain fires up the image of Harry kissing Nick, and Nick loving it more than he’s ever done with Niall. So he’s going to go and mingle for as long as he can manage before he feels like a sore thumb and has to rush home to his pyjamas and his non-judgmental sofa.

Niall shows his invite at the door and steps into a hotel ballroom where most everyone dwarfs him, men in flashier suits than his, women in tall heels. He feels outclassed in a second. He stands to the side of the door and looks for someone he knows, anyone, even a vague acquaintance from some long ago awards show, but the only faces he recognises are ones off the telly.

There’s a bar to one side of the room, and Niall settles an arm on it and strikes up a conversation with the bartender, who gives him a slow onceover like he has to check if Niall’s flirting. Niall’s very used to pretending not to notice things like that. The bartender’s not unattractive, but he’s a means to an end tonight, and that end is not humiliating himself at this party before he can reasonably leave.

He orders a vodka soda and takes slow sips. He’s running low on things to say about mixed drinks when a familiar hand cups his elbow, and Nick says, “Hiya, love.” 

Niall’s torn between sharp relief and a new kind of fear. He hasn’t seen Nick since before Christmas, and he isn’t sure where they left things, and he certainly doesn’t want to talk about it here. He turns and smiles, helplessly warm, at Nick in his t-shirt and suit jacket, hair fluffed up in a way that makes Niall want to touch it. “Nicholas! I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I live for fashion,” says Nick, deadpan. “Have you met my friend Henry?”

He takes a half-step sideways, and a man with an even sharper quiff holds out a hand to Niall. Niall knows he’s a designer, cool and slightly ridiculous, and he’s stalked Nick’s insta enough to know they’re friends. Maybe Nick’s told Henry about the two of them. What an awful thought. “Haven’t had the pleasure,” Niall says easily. “Good to meet you, mate. I’m Niall.”

“Our Niall’s just started modelling in addition to his wildly successful pop career,” Nick tells Henry. He sounds proud, bigging up a mate, but he’s not using his radio voice, which makes it more intimate somehow, and Niall keeps smiling, not looking at him until Henry does.

“Here as potential catwalk material?” Henry says, half to Nick and half to Niall.

“Not tall enough for that, sadly. But they seem to think there’s a market for dull Irishmen in the world today, so I do all right.”

“Maybe we’ll get you onto a catwalk next time. Size isn’t everything.”

Niall laughs at the double entendre, tries not to read too much into it. “I’ll have to practise my walk and all. My knees are pretty dodgy, but I wouldn’t want them to think I’m not wearing their clothes right.”

Henry gives him a harmlessly flirty up and down look. “I think you’d do just fine, darling.”

“You’ve certainly had those ramps and things at your concerts,” Nick adds, slightly too loud, like he wants Niall’s attention for himself. “You seemed to do alright strutting on them.”

Niall looks at him, desperate to give nothing away, even though his first jealous thought is ‘how’d you ever notice me with Harry there?’ He’s quiet for maybe a beat too long. “It’s true I can walk and hold a guitar at the same time. That’s the basis of my career, to be honest.”

“Fashion’s just the same, except you dress like an idiot and carry an elaborate set piece instead of a guitar. Henry loves an elaborate set piece. It makes him feel as though he’s not just an upstart t-shirt designer.”

“Oh stop it, Grim. You’ve got so many better targets than me. Just look around the room.” They all look, swirls of sleek, colourful people mingling all over the ballroom. Nick and Henry flank him, whispering in both of Niall’s ears about people they know and people they don’t know who are wearing awful clothes. Henry slips an arm through Niall’s in a show of catty camaraderie, and after a moment Nick does the same on the other side, fingers lingering against Niall’s forearm. Niall imagines what he looks like, a straight tourist in the world of fashion, laughing gamely at the things Henry and Nick say to him. And it’s an easy role to play, easier than flirting with female models he doesn’t want to go home with. But maybe there’s some world where he could be someone different. Someone who wants to go home with the man whose hand tightens on his elbow every time he laughs.

At one point, Nick wanders off to find the loos, and Niall doesn’t even make the connection when his phone buzzes, but of course it’s Nick. “Come back to mine after this if you like. Great to see you anyway xx,” the message says, and Niall feels undone by it, the way Nick doesn’t even hint that that’s what he’s thinking when he comes back in, but Niall smiles at him and he smiles back.

They can’t leave together with the crowd, so Nick goes first, and Niall goes slightly later, giving the taxi driver Nick’s address just as though it’s his own. He’s ten minutes away when Nick says, _My housemate’s still up. Do I need to shove her off to bed?_

And Niall feels strange, thinking about that. Because he doesn’t want anyone to know, has never wanted anyone to know, but he doesn’t want it to be hard on Nick. He wonders if all Nick’s friends know about him and Harry, and it sits sourly in his gut as he stares at his phone. _I don’t mind x_ , he sends back after a pause that’ll look suspicious anyway. _Be there in 5_.

Nick meets him at the door, barefoot in trackies and his t-shirt from earlier. “Hey,” he says, touching Niall’s cheek in the hall, the sound of the telly spilling from the living room. Niall wants to kiss him, but he’s not that brave, not with a stranger in the next room.

It's nice, being at Nick's on a Saturday night. They watch telly for a bit in Nick's bed, and Nick touches him in an easy, incidental way, but stripped down to his boxers, it's hard for Niall not to react to it. He hasn't got off with anyone since the last time he was here, knowing the longer he goes on as a brunette, the less unrecognizable he is when he's out.

"If you keep flinching I'm going to get a complex," Nick says, one hand on Niall's belly under the duvet.

"It's not flinching," Niall replies. "But it's a bit distracting. Hard to pay attention to the telly when..." He licks his lips, and Nick's hand shifts lower, crossing the waist of Niall's boxers, feeling him out. He's half-hard, spreads his legs to make himself available to Nick's hand. When Nick starts rubbing more determinedly, long fingers making a tight cage around Niall’s dick, Niall’s breath catches on a moan. He rocks his hips up towards Nick’s hand, and his pants rub over the damp head of his dick, dragging against the sensitive tip.

Nick looks away, looks back at the TV as though Niall isn’t coming apart beside him, losing track of everything besides Nick’s hand, teasing him until he aches. Niall squirms a little, unsure how to get what he needs, liking the pressure of Nick’s fingers but knowing they’re not quite enough. And then Nick reaches into the slit of Niall’s boxers to touch him skin on skin, and Niall can’t help the way he arches up to the touch. Nick’s hand is dry, and the friction is uncomfortable, but Niall could take it, has had worse honestly. He gasps and lifts his hips, wanting Nick to know he can keep going. But Nick lets go, doesn’t even look at Niall’s face before he leans down and takes Niall’s cock into his mouth, nearly all of it in one swallow, so unexpected that Niall nearly chokes on his own tongue as he tries to draw breath to moan. 

Nick has been paying attention to the telly, or so Niall thought, but when Niall looks up, the screen is just a blur of colour, impossibly far away and unimportant. He doesn’t know if Nick was watching, doesn’t care because now he’s got all of Nick’s attention focused in tight suction around his cock. Nick’s fingers tease his balls, stroking along the seam of his sac and then farther back, across his taint and then right up against his hole, light, ticklish pressure. He thrusts forward, almost reflexive, and Nick just takes it, squeezing Niall’s thigh but not pulling back, his mouth open wide around the base of Niall’s cock. Niall can’t stand it for long, the sensation of it combined with the look of concentration on Nick’s face, the way he snatches glances up from between Niall’s thighs. He warns Nick before he comes, clumsy on the words, but Nick just pulls back to lick the head of his cock, swallowing as Niall shoots. Afterwards, he cushions his head on Niall’s thigh, laid in a decadent sprawl across the bed while Niall’s fingers make a mess of his hair. Niall watches him touch himself, a quick, efficient wank like he’s nearly at the edge already. “Should I…?” Niall trails off the question. 

Nick looks up at him, licks his lips. “Just stay like that.”

So he does, watches Nick come with a soft, satisfied noise.

 

“Do you need to go?” Nick asks in the morning, looking up from his phone. He’s got his glasses on and his hair going every which way, and Niall thinks this is what having a boyfriend’s like, mornings with no deadlines or sneaking out or avoiding each other’s eyes.

“I’m free all day. How are you fixed for breakfast?”

“Healthy stuff. Sausages in the freezer we pretend aren’t there because otherwise we’d eat them.”

“Sounds about like my house.”

“What about all the caviar and fancy popstar stuff?”

“Never for breakfast. Too early in the day for eggs that don’t come from a bird.”

“I could take you out, too,” Nick offers. Niall thinks if Nick were his boyfriend, they probably wouldn’t go out. They’d stay in and eat toast and freezer-burnt sausages because each time they saw each other wouldn’t be anything special. But this is still special. It still feels like any time might be the last time, if he’s honest. He spends too long thinking about that, and Nick nudges him with his elbow. “Unless you’d rather just stare into space.”

“Do you want to go out?” Niall asks. “I haven’t got anything to wear.”

“You can have something of mine. But you could plan ahead and bring stuff over when you come next time. Might make this bit easier. We don’t always have to meet at parties first.” There’s an edge of anxiety underneath it, like Niall’s answer matters more than he’s saying.

Niall kisses his cheek, scruffy with stubble. He’s not sure what to say. “I’m not used to planning ahead like that.”

“You could be.” Nick climbs out of bed before Niall can react to that properly. Probably to save Niall the embarrassment of figuring out what to say. He likes planning ahead for everything else, making packing lists and choosing menus and writing up itineraries, but bringing clothes to Nick’s, even just a change of pants and a clean t-shirt, is making a plan for something he can barely admit is happening. Even though he’d like it to. Even though he’s starting to think the sex isn’t all there is, because he’s starting to like the bit afterward too, the bit where Nick’s hands settle lazily against his bare skin and his voice is rough with sleep. The bit where they look at their phones separately but simultaneously in the dark, and Nick almost always falls asleep first. Niall’s not used to falling asleep with someone else, hasn’t been since shared hotel rooms with the band. He can’t begrudge Nick his ease, but he notices it. They’ve had very different experiences of sharing a bed up to this point.

Sometimes he falls asleep cradled to Nick’s chest, nose in the thick curls of Nick’s chest hair, and that’s as good as it is new. Niall likes the feel of Nick’s body, solid underneath him, warm everywhere they touch. Their legs get tangled up together when they’re that close, knees overlapping incidentally. He never spends the whole night like that, but when he wakes up, he’s often idly touching Nick, toes or elbows or soft fingertips like Niall’s body needs the reassurance of Nick’s.

 

“I like you a lot,” Nick says, late at night in the dark, one time Niall stays over. Niall’s tucked in against his chest, drowsy and spent. It’s quiet, and part of him wants to pretend he didn’t hear, didn’t know it for what it was: a confession.

He kisses the nearest bit of Nick’s skin, thick with curling hair nearly up to his collarbone. “I like you too.” He’s leaving again in the morning, so he’s not giving much ground, really. Nick squeezes his hip, and it feels like a complete conversation.

 

The first time Niall meets Nick’s housemate, he’s stood in Nick’s robe in Nick’s kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. It’s the third time this week he’s stayed over. There’s nothing underneath the robe, and he knows there’s a patch of stubble burn along his collarbone, just in the V of the open neckline.

“Oh, hi,” she says, pausing in the doorway and eyeing the coffee maker. “Is there enough of that for one more cup?”

“Mm,” says Niall, eyeballing the rising level of liquid in the pot. “Should be plenty.” He thinks he should introduce himself, but then he thinks he probably doesn't have to, and that only makes it worse, the sick flopping of his stomach. He feels trapped by the bubbling coffee, and his breezy declaration that he’d go make it, which seemed domestic and nice upstairs, now seems foolish.

"I'm Emily," she says, leaning on the counter. "I'm really only interested in the coffee, I promise."

Niall gives her a little smile, wondering what Nick's said to her, or whether he’s just one in a long string of nervous popstars hanging round Nick’s kitchen the morning after. "Niall. Same for this time of the day."

They get their coffees and go in opposite directions, Emily toward the dining table and Niall back upstairs with two mugs clutched tightly in his hands. Nick's still in his pants brushing his teeth in the en-suite, but he peeks out as Niall shoulders into the bedroom. "Y'alright?" he says around his toothbrush.

"Your housemate's up," says Niall, and the look Nick gives him is complicated. "She seems nice."

“She is nice,” Nick agrees. “I expected you to freak out more. Given all the sneaking out at 6 in the morning you’ve done so far.”

Niall swallows and bows his head. Nick’s not wrong about him. “Freaking out doesn’t help. Did you tell her about me?”

Nick folds his hands together, and both of them watch his long fingers. “We did a little bit of ‘ooh, have you finally got a boyfriend’ last night when I said someone was coming round again. I told her that it wasn’t that. But she knows you spent the night. Obviously.”

Niall sits down on the edge of the bed, and picks up his coffee. Nick does the same next to him. “What’s it like having a boyfriend?”

Nick scoffs. “As if I’d know.”

“More than me.” Niall doesn’t know what he’s doing, wrapped in Nick’s robe and drinking Nick’s coffee. The nights they’ve spent together can’t even be counted on two hands anymore, and other people definitely burn out on “relationships” shorter than this and still call them that. “Did you always hate boyfriends? As a concept?”

“I don’t hate anything, but they’re more trouble than they’re worth most days, innit? It’s more straightforward to not bother.”

Niall nods. There are a lot of things that could be more straightforward if he stopped coming round Nick’s all the time as though he belongs here. “Is straightforward the goal then?”

“I get up at five in the bloody morning five days a week. I can’t think of anything nicer than straightforward. But that doesn’t mean that’s all there is. That’s just… that’s all I’ve made room for in my life. But it doesn’t have to be. It was just a choice I made.”

Niall is quiet for a long time, a conspicuous stretch of silence that Nick doesn’t try to interrupt. “I don’t know,” Niall says, cringing at the sound of the words, the way they flop out of his mouth without meaning anything. Nick waits. “Do you ever, like, get used to stuff and if someone asked you how you liked it, you wouldn’t even know what to say because it’s just how things are? Not like a choice, just… you didn’t think there was a choice.”

“Yeah,” says Nick. “I think everyone’s got that about something.”

“That’s what it’s been like, not being out, not being with anyone, taking what I could get without putting myself out there. It’s just been all there was for so long. And if there’d been anyone to ask me, I would have said I liked it fine. But I don’t know anymore.” He stares at his coffee because he can’t stand Nick looking at him too close right now.

“You don’t have to know, love. You really don’t. I’m just glad making small talk with Emily hasn’t sent you running for the door. I quite fancy spending the morning in bed.”

Niall takes a slurp of his coffee and sets it aside on the nightstand, puts a hand out to take Nick’s as well. Their fingers brush in the transfer, and Niall looks up to find Nick’s mouth very close to his. He shuts his eyes to kiss him.

Both of them tip back onto the bed as the kiss gets more intense, and Nick begins to paw the robe from Niall’s shoulders. It feels insubstantial, Nick’s fingers hot against his skin through it, and then it’s gone, over the edge of the bed, and Niall is naked, available everywhere to Nick’s touch. Nick fucked him deep and unbearably slow last night, stayed in him until Niall came twice, so over-sensitized he nearly cried, and he can feel the echo of it now, as his thighs fall open around Nick’s hips.

It’s the first time in his life he’s had this sort of sex regularly, rather than as a quick and sometimes uncomfortable bonus in a club toilet, and he feels greedy for it, knowing he doesn’t have to direct every second to get what he needs. He thinks about Nick fucking him at odd moments, squirming through long bus rides and looking away quickly from the cucumbers at the supermarket. When Nick’s fingers wander down between his legs again, he groans and wiggles towards them. He’s still tender, his arsehole slightly swollen as Nick’s fingertips press there, rubbing at him.

“Alright?” Nick asks, and Niall licks his lips and nods.

“Coffee’ll be cold though.”

Nick ignores the mugs on the bedside table for the bottle of lube beside them. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Niall kisses him again to prove he doesn’t, bites at Nick’s mouth as Nick’s fingers ease into him again, slick him open with steady, inexorable pressure. Niall bends his knees up tighter, giving Nick better access to screw into him, and he’s gasping already in pleasure and anticipation as Nick’s fingers curve upwards, aiming straight into his prostate. Nick presses there, teasing Niall with the promise of something that fills him up better than Nick’s fingers. Nick’s cock brushes the back of Niall’s raised thigh, wet at the tip, and Niall wriggles towards it, working his hips against Nick’s hand as the next best thing.

The coffee is stone cold by the time they get round to drinking it, but it’s about the nicest morning Niall can imagine.

 

"Are you doing anything next weekend?" Nick asks, going quieter down the phone like it's a secret. Niall's still getting used to how much Nick likes talking on the phone. He tends to do it whilst he's doing other things, like buying groceries or walking the dogs, and usually there's background noise, but just now it's quiet.

"Quiet one, I think," says Niall. "I'll be in LA next week, but then I'm back for a little while. Have you got something on?"

"I sound like a knob saying this, but someone’s got me on a list somewhere as an influencer, which means hotels offer me free stays sometimes if I'll post some photos while I'm there. So I'm going up to one at the weekend and the friends I normally ask aren't around, and I thought you might like to come."

"Last choice, am I?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I called you first. Fear of rejection, you know."

Niall wants to go away with Nick. He wants it a lot. "You usually go with friends?"

"Yeah."

"Separate rooms?"

“One room.” Nick pauses in the silence at the other end of the phone. “King size bed.”

“What sort of friends do you take to a place like that?”

“The ones who don’t snore, usually. I haven’t got a problem sharing my bed with friends. You lot in One Direction must have done a bit of that.”

Niall can’t disagree. But none of them ever got off with each other, or wanted to, as far as Niall knows. And they all knew each other so thoroughly then. “Not sober usually,” Niall points out.

“I’m sure they could get you a cot. Or you could sleep in the bath. There’s always a posh bathtub.” Niall’s still thinking it through, so Nick carries on. “King-size is a lot of bed though. We might not even find each other.”

“These hotels of yours, how are their staff on discretion?”

“Great, usually. I haven’t met one that wasn’t. And I won’t tag you in my pictures. You’ll be like a little Irish ghost.”

Niall laughs. “Just what I always wanted.”

“I’ve gone on weekends away with Mossy before and nothing’s ever wound up in the papers, so I think you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You’re just namedropping now.”

“Maybe. But I want you to come.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’d like that.” His voice goes a bit weird, a bit awkward teenager, and he can’t help it. He doesn’t really get invited places by people he’s sleeping with, apart from the requisite “come back to mine?”

“It’s a date,” Nick says, and Niall feels the impact of those words in his stomach, even though it’s a normal phrase, something people say every day without even thinking about it.

“It’s a date,” he echoes, and then he finds he can’t leave that as the last thing said. “Anything I should be sure to bring along? Tennis whites? Grouse hunting gear?”

Nick laughs. “I bet you’re gorgeous in tennis whites. If you can work on that, that’d be ideal. To be clear, though, there’s no tennis court, and we also don’t go round shooting innocent birds and animals for sport. So you’re not surprised. It’ll probably rain.”

“Indoor sports only then.”

“I can bring the equipment for those.”

 

Nick offers to drive, and Niall meets him at his house, loitering in the hall while Nick reminds the dogs that he loves them and Emily will be home soon to look after them. Pig licks his hand, and Nick wipes it on his jeans, cooing at her, and Niall feels helplessly fond.

"Ready?" Nick asks, hefting a Tesco bag for life over his shoulder. "I got some snacks. But I never asked what kind of crisps you liked, so there's a variety."

"How far is this place?" Niall asks, eying the size of the bag.

"Not that far. Getting out of London on a Friday afternoon is the hardest bit. We'll need these." He starts towards the door, then thinks better of it and goes to wash his hands in the kitchen.

Radio 1 is on in the car when Nick starts it, and Niall feels a bit like he's being watched by Nick's colleagues, familiar voices surrounding him. "You can change it if you like," Nick says. “I had it on for Annie’s show last night, but I don’t need to hear these songs again if you don’t want.”

“Did you tell anyone at work you were going away?”

“My team, whoever I made small talk with in the office this morning, someone in the canteen, probably. Your name didn’t come up.”

“I know,” says Niall. He eyes the radio buttons, but he can’t bring himself to switch the station. “I know you wouldn’t say anything. I appreciate it, the discretion.”

“Used to discretion though, aren’t I? Kate Moss is one of my best mates, and she never wants you chatting about her all over town.”

Niall swallows and thinks about reaching for the snack bag just for something to do with his hands. “Do you always do things like this with friends?”

“As opposed to boyfriends? Yeah, usually. I haven’t really dated anyone I’d want to spend a whole weekend alone with. Which probably says more about me than them, honestly, but I talk for a living and spending two days with a cute guy who can hardly string a sentence together is more or less hell.”

“I’ve got media training on the sentence thing, so we should do alright there,” Niall says, then realises he’s made it sound like they’re dating, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

“I wouldn’t have invited you for just your pretty face.”

Niall thinks to himself ‘it’s not pretty enough for that’, keeps it back because it sounds like fishing for a compliment, and he’s not ready for Nick to know how nervous he is, how much he needs reassurance. “Have you been to this place before?”

“I’ve been to a place owned by the same people, but not this one. Looks dead nice in the pictures though, doesn’t it? I can’t wait for a soak in the bath.”

“Is it big enough for two, do you think?” Niall asks boldly, and Nick reaches out to graze a finger against his thigh.

“We’ll make it work.”

Nick gives running commentary on all the songs on the radio, which ones he loves, which he can’t stand, which were only good the first hundred times and now they’re rubbish. But when one of Shawn’s comes on, he gives Niall a sort of furtive look, and after a moment, Niall remembers why. He hasn’t thought about Nick and Shawn together much; it doesn’t eat at him the way that Nick and Harry does. Still he gives Nick a reassuring smile at the next light.

“So you and Shawn have never…” Nick says, and Niall shakes his head immediately.

“No. Jesus, no,” he says, then softens it. “I’m sure it was nice, but I don’t mix the streams you know. Except with you.”

“Does he even know you’re gay? He obviously talks to you about things.”

“No. He thinks I’m older and wiser and have myself sorted out. But he assumed I was straight and I let him. That’s what I do.”

“But isn’t it different with someone else in the same situation? You’ve got, like, actual experience being gay in the industry. Haven’t you thought of helping him out?”

Niall bristles at that, but he couldn’t explain why it bothers him. So he sighs and stares at the dashboard. “I’ve got experience being in the closet. I don’t want to give him advice about that. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” says Nick. “Well, we can certainly not talk about it.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the song.

Niall knows how to smooth a lot of things over, but not this, not when he’s been so honest. “Thanks for driving two more hours now that I’ve made this incredibly awkward.”

“You’re alright. Better to talk awkwardly than fall asleep and make me talk to myself.”

“Reckon that’s what Harold would do in this situation.”

“He has a unique talent for sleep, that one. I envy it a bit, you know?”

“I think it’s the touring. When you’ve got the chance to sleep, you’ve got to take it, since the next opportunity might be the other side of the show. Thankful there’s none of that this weekend. No getting up at 5am either.”

“God, yes,” Nick agrees. “No alarm going off in the pitch dark, no dogs scrabbling around wanting their walk because you can’t explain to them about weekends. There’s nothing better in the goddamn world. The longer I’m on mornings, the more I appreciate anytime I haven’t got to get up in the morning.”

 

The woman who checks them in at the front desk smiles blandly and with no sign of recognition at him as she hands Nick a bright sheaf of descriptions of hotel amenities and a pair of keys. Niall tries not to betray his nervousness, returns the bland smile in kind. He doesn’t even try to speak, as though his voice would give him away more than the fact that he’s sharing a hotel room with only one bed with a man. Nick glances at him as they turn away from the desk but doesn’t say anything. It’s the right thing to do. There’s nothing he could say.

The hotel room is open and bright, a wall of windows looking out onto the dry winter fields beyond. Even after Nick closes the door, Niall feels too exposed, the wall of glass in front of him and the whole world pressing in from outside. There’s a bathtub sat incongruously in front of the window, and Niall stares at its carved feet instead of the open space beyond. Nick touches his shoulder, and Niall leans into him, wanting to assure Nick he wants to be here.

Nick’s hand moves, stroking along the tensed line of Niall’s spine, the defensive slump of his shoulders, recognizing each part of his body that gives away how out of place he feels. “There’s no one right way to spend a weekend in the country,” Nick tells him. “I didn’t mean to make out as though it’s a big romantic moment. When I come to places like this with my other friends, we order room service and watch films and go for walks, and it’s just nice to get away. That’s all it has to be.”

Maybe that would be easier, but Niall glances at the big sleigh bed, lush with throw pillows, and his belly warms with all the things Nick could do to him in it. He’d like a big romantic moment, honestly.

“Whatever you want,” Nick says and kisses the side of his neck, lingers there until Niall shivers back into him.

“I want a shower and then I want you to fuck me in that giant posh bed,” Niall admits, and he feels Nick’s breath stutter against his skin. He’s not used to saying things like that either, asking instead of just offering his body up for it, and he wonders if Nick can feel Niall’s pulse speeding under his lips. Niall got so used to sex being mediocre at best in years of hasty, thoughtless orgasms with strangers, but Nick knows him now, knows what he likes and knows how to give it to him. It’s raised his standards dangerously high. Nick’s raised his standards for a lot of things.

“Perfect. Shall we see if the shower’s as posh as the tub?”

“Reckon we should.”

The bed has a sturdy head and footboard, which make it look even larger than it is, and Niall barely bothers towelling off before throwing himself onto it, spreading out on the expanse of the duvet. “You look good enough to eat like that,” says Nick, water still glistening in his chest hair.

Niall turns his face into the duvet, embarrassed and pleased. When Nick joins him in bed, they kiss for a long time, their bodies slotting together easily. There’s no rush, nowhere to be except here, no early morning alarms threatening. Niall loves Nick’s mouth, the single-minded way he kisses. Nick would look sad if Niall mentioned it, but Niall’s probably had less kissing in his life than an average bloke, and definitely less than an average popstar. He feels as though he’s making up for lost time now, balancing out every quick anonymous handjob he ever gave in a club toilet where the only point of contact was his hand and a stranger’s prick.

By the time Nick takes a break from kissing him, they’re both hard, and Nick’s body is holding Niall to the bed, pinning him while their cocks nudge each other in a crude rhythm. “All right?” Nick asks, hoarse as though he’s left someplace more arduous than Niall’s mouth to say it.

“Yeah,” Niall replies, blinking up at him. He realises they haven’t shut the curtains, and the winter sunset makes everything inside look soft and warm, Nick’s skin blushing pink in between the shadows. “I’ve got condoms and stuff in my bag.”

Nick smiles. “I have too.”

“We won’t run out then.”

He stands up, backlit by the big window, romantic in spite of Niall’s uncertainty. “That depends how hard we try, doesn’t it?”

Niall laughs. “Right you are.” 

Nick is efficient, finding the lube and condoms in the pocket of his suitcase and setting them on the little table beside the bed. Niall holds his breath while Nick squeezes lube onto his fingers, tingles with anticipation just watching him. He’s so eager to be touched. A cursory rub of his arsehole with hotel body wash was so inadequate to his needs. But Nick doesn’t let him down, fucking one finger into him almost before Niall’s body is ready, adding a second before he starts working Niall’s cock with his other hand. Niall reaches out for him, pulls him down for a kiss, Nick’s hands slipping, pausing, but still holding him open and ready.

“Come on,” Niall says, looking at the condom packets. “Start using those up.”

 

It’s already full dark when they finish, deep grey blobs of cloud against deep blue outside the big window. Nick holds him in the big bed, curled around him and kissing him at that angle. Niall’s never liked being the little spoon, but this is nice.

“Do you fancy trying out room service?” Nick asks, fingers distracting on Niall’s bare belly.

Niall doesn’t want to let anyone through the door. He stares at the condom wrapper on the bedside table, the bottle of lube tipped over beside it.

“We can tidy up a bit. And you can hide in the toilet if you like.”

Nick is being kind, but all Niall can hear is how much of a pain in the arse he is. Every single moment of this weekend is harder for him than it should be, than it would be for someone else. He hates being accommodated, worked around like a delicate child.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m a fucking weirdo.”

“You’re alright. You’re keeping a secret, and a big one. I knew that when I invited you. Let’s get something to eat, yeah?”

They order too much food and two bottles of wine, and Niall thinks about hiding in the toilet, but in the end he gets dressed and touches up his hair and pulls the duvet back up the bed as though they haven’t been frantically fucking in it. He chucks the condom wrapper and tucks the lube in a drawer, and Nick catches his eye to smile reassuringly.

A man Niall’s age rolls in a cart, covered dishes stacked on top and the wine in a chilled bucket on the lower shelf. Niall looks at him covertly, but his face stays blandly polite. He wants to ask Nick if he does this when he’s here with friends because it looks so much like courtship. There are two tall white candles in a basket along with linen to cover the little table, and the man unfolds a whole beautiful dinner, cinematic in its perfection. Niall feels himself blushing as the man leaves, a reaction he didn’t expect and can’t stem.

Nick smiles at him. “Shall we dine?” he says in a ludicrous posh accent.

“We shall,” replies Niall. He’s shaky when he stands up though, a little watery about the knees.

“I don’t really do romance,” Nick says, slightly sheepish. He takes a picture of his plate, leaves Niall’s out of it.

“Had me fooled,” Niall tells him. Candlelight makes flickering shadows around the blunt shapes of his hands on the cutlery, giving a dreamy quality to the whole meal. Maybe that’s why couples eat like this, he thinks, so it never feels quite real. “Thanks,” he says belatedly. “This is really nice, romance or no.”

Nick smiles and nudges Niall’s foot under the table. "You’re welcome. You know, sometimes when we're all on holiday, I make my friend George pretend to be my husband."

Niall laughs. "What sort of husbandly duties does he perform?"

"Pulls out my chair in the restaurant, holds my hand on the beach, lets me sit in his lap when I'm drunk. He's a model, like you, so it's very flattering."

Niall chooses not to contest that he's a model. He says it often enough himself. "Why don't you actually marry him then?"

"He's married to my friend Pixie. Also mostly straight."

"Harold level of straight?"

"Straighter, I think, though maybe he went through a young idiot phase as well before I knew him."

It's oddly gratifying to hear him dismiss Harry's "young idiot" phase so casually. Niall knows they're still friends, just like he and Harry are, but the low throb of jealousy he felt thinking about them last fall has dulled to nearly nothing. "You shouldn't marry someone who's already married anyway. There are laws on that."

“It’s 2018. They’ll get round to changing them sometime.”

They eat and drink wine, and Niall can’t look at Nick’s face for too long because his eyes in the candlelight are too lovely. But he looks up every once in a while and smiles.

The wine makes Niall warm and cheerful, easier in Nick’s company, and he wonders if he should have gotten a little tipsy earlier on, if that’s a survival tool that could have saved him a lot of worry. The evening seems to flow on quicker and quicker, Nick’s eyes crinkling as he talks more about holidays with his other friends.

“I don’t really know what you do on one-on-one holidays with a partner,” Nick admits. “Besides sex, obviously. I don’t really get past that stage of trying to impress them with how witty and put-together I am, and that’s hard to maintain when there’s Spanish wine all round.”

Niall looks at the empty bottles between them and raises an eyebrow.

“You’re bloody _rich_. I can’t impress you anyway.” Nick pauses and gives him a considering look, then says nothing more. Niall picks through what he’s said, wonders about the implication that he’s Nick’s “partner”.

“You impress me,” he says finally. “I wouldn’t have come here for just anyone.”

Nick’s foot nudges his again, and Niall smiles, bashful. He lets the silence sit, a game he’s better at than Nick is. “You’ve dated girls a bit, haven’t you? You take them anywhere fancy?” Nick asks into the quiet.

“Never reached that point, really. There’s a bit of pressure to perform with a partner, as you know.”

“I don’t usually worry about impressing in that way.”

Niall pours more wine into both their glasses. They’re at the end of the second bottle now, and Niall’s fingertips are tingly with warmth. He’s not sure he would manage to talk about any of this without the wine to help, but it’s a little bit nice, telling Nick things there’s never been room to tell anyone before. Even slightly embarrassing stuff feels possible to say out loud. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. But it’s different, with a girl, if you’ve never really wanted a girl. You want to do the thing you’re supposed to, but also the thing she’ll like, and when you don’t quite know what either of those things are, you just… don’t get far.”

“Yeah,” agrees Nick. “I tried it some. But never in a high-pressure situation, so to speak. Just friends. No one minded that it was rubbish. We could just laugh it off after.”

“What’s that like then?”

“It’s nice.”

“Low stakes. But in a different way than fucking people you know you’ll never see again.”

“Yeah. I like that too, sometimes.”

Niall thinks he should say something, something about how they’re alike, or how they’re different. But they are alike, and different, and there’s not much to say about that. The stakes are higher between them now, higher than friends and higher than strangers. That’s what partners is, maybe.

 

Nick’s got golf on the telly when Niall comes out of the bathroom in the morning, and he’s looking quizzically at it as though it’s a transmission from another planet. “What’s the appeal of this?” he asks, gesturing with the remote.

Niall shrugs and sits down next to him on the foot of the bed. “What’s the appeal of sport at all though?”

“Well, that’s what I always say to myself, but I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“It’s nice watching people be good at stuff, isn’t it? You watch them at their craft and it’s, like, nice. That they’ve got all that skill. And then you speak to them and you make a fucking spectacle of yourself because you haven’t got a clue how to talk about it.”

“So like watching you at your concert then.”

“Leave it,” Niall says, rolling his eyes and shoving a good-natured elbow into Nick’s side. “You’ve seen better shows than mine. But it’s the same feeling, watching someone at the top of their game.”

“And you get that from people hitting a little ball around the grass with sticks the same way you do from someone belting out massive pop hits?” Nick asks sceptically.

“It’s the way they hit the little ball with the stick though. There’s this motion to it that’s got to be exactly right. Your whole body has to know what it’s doing. It’s not like playing music where you’ve just gotta have your fingers under control. And that feeling you get when the ball’s flying off and you can see it’s going just where you think it should, it’s incredible.”

“You feel like that when you’re playing songs too?”

“I feel it more when I’m playing. I’m not shit at music like I am at golf, so it feels a bit more attainable, success.”

“I liked watching you,” Nick says, but it comes out weighted like a confession. Which is unusual, among the people who come to his shows; even the grudging chaperoning dads don’t make it sound like a secret. 

Niall looks across at him, eyebrows up.

“I liked watching you up there and thinking how I knew you, how I knew you better than anyone else there. I felt possessive.”

“Sure and it was the same with our Harold.”

Nick touches his wrist, squeezes for a second and lets go. “It wasn’t the same.”

It seems like a long time ago now, makes Niall count up the months since they started sleeping together, more than half a year since the first time. That seems like a long time too. They’re edging around something, and Niall doesn’t think either of them will mention it.

“It’s nice though,” Nick adds, “feeling like that about a person when they’re doing their job.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. He likes turning on Nick’s show in the morning when he’s home, dozing to the sound of Nick’s voice, but he doesn’t think it’s really the same. Although every once in a while he hugs a pillow to his chest and imagines Nick in bed with him, speaking to him close up. And knowing he could have that, if he asked for it, makes it different than it used to be, when Nick was mostly Harry’s mate on the radio. 

 

He doesn’t know where Harry is when he phones, but it’s gratifying that he gets a text back immediately. _Everything ok? I can call back in 5_ , Harry acting like a concerned friend after all the simmering resentment Niall’s been feeling towards him. Niall sends him a thumbs up and waits. He thinks Harry’s in town. He hasn’t started his tour yet, so it’s London or LA or his mum’s, almost certainly.

When he calls back, Niall waits until the phone rings a couple of times before he answers. He’s had just long enough to think that maybe he doesn’t want to talk to Harry about this, maybe he wants to hold it inside forever. But he can’t, really.

“Niall!” exclaims Harry, sunny and magnanimous.

The sound of his voice makes Niall smile. “Harold! You alright, mate?”

“Fantastic,” says Harry, and Niall can hear the timbre of the background noise change, like he’s shut himself away someplace small and insulated. “How are you? You don’t usually phone.”

“I know,” says Niall, and swallows, considering how to proceed. He’s made up his mind to do this and now he will. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been thinking about Nick.”

“He says you’ve seen quite a bit of each other lately,” Harry says, voice mild, inscrutable.

“Does he then? Has he said anything else?”

“Not much. He likes you. He always says how much he likes you.”

“Yeah, well, I like him a lot too.” Niall takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve really liked someone that much before.”

Harry makes a small noise, but Niall can’t tell what it means. Part of him wishes they could have done this face to face, like the late-night tour bus conversations of the old days. But he’s not sure he would have managed to say anything with Harry looking at him.

“Haz, I don’t know what to do. I haven’t even told anyone I’m gay, except Nick, and you. I’m not ready.”

“Not ready to tell anyone? I don’t think Nick will make you. I’ll, I don’t know, kick him if he tries.”

Niall smiles. It’s a wonderfully childish threat. “I’m not ready to be with Nick. I’m not even sure if that’s what he wants, but I’d have to ask him. I can’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had to talk to anyone about that. ‘Do you like me? Tick yes or no’ is about my limit.”

“He might go for that. He’s rubbish at grown-up relationship stuff. He must have told you.”

Niall picks thoughtfully at a hangnail on his thumb. “He’s told me, but honestly I’m not sure I believe it. He always seems to know the right thing to say.” Niall thinks about how accommodating Nick was in the hotel, how much he did to make sure Niall was comfortable. “We went away for the weekend together,” he tells Harry, in case Nick hasn’t.

“Yeah,” says Harry, which means Nick has. “Niall, I think it would be okay to speak to him. I don’t think either of you would, like, explode or anything. He likes you. I can tell you that right now. The way he talks about you is like…” Niall waits, but Harry can’t seem to find a way to finish the sentence.

“Like what, Haz?” he says gently. It hadn’t quite occurred to him that Nick might do the exact same thing he’s doing right now.

“He talks like he’s thinking of you when he’s making plans. I don’t even know if he realises. It’s sweet. I haven’t seen him care for someone quite like that before.”

“Ever?”

“Ever,” Harry confirms and it gives Niall a little thrill. “I think he’d like it if you talked to him. I don’t know for sure, but I think he would. I think he’d like to know how you’re feeling.”

“Do you think he doesn’t know?”

“Maybe you’ve got too used to not giving anything away.”

Niall pokes at a loose stitch in the hem of his t-shirt. “I don’t know how he couldn’t. I haven’t been subtle. We spent a weekend together.”

“Only because he asked you to go with him.” The way he says it makes Niall wonder exactly how Nick told him about it, whether he might have even consulted with Harry about how to ask. He wonders whether Harry’s right.

“Am I really that bad?” he asks.

Harry snorts. “Maybe you’re really that good.”

 

 _Are you listening today?_ Nick texts, and Niall stares at the phone, anxiety swelling and cresting. But Nick's still typing another message. _Nothing serious_ with a green love heart. Like he knows that Niall's lying paralyzed in his hotel bed in Dublin, thinking about playing an arena he last played with the other lads beside him, a space that must be too big for him alone.

 _What did you do?_ Niall asks. It's before 8am.

_I was talking to someone about rivers and your name came up._

Niall pulls up the radio app and starts up the show from the beginning, settling his phone on the pillow so it's like Nick's talking right in his ear. It's nice hearing Nick's voice, and he lets himself think about that for a bit, having someone like Nick in his life whose voice is nice to hear.

The bit with rivers is about 45 minutes in, and Niall’s well prepared for Nick talking to a stranger about the river that more or less shares his name. But somehow he isn’t prepared for Nick asking, “Which is deeper, Niall or the Nile?” with a smile Niall can hear clear through the radio. He feels tense and embarrassed and turned on in about equal measure, all of it twisting together in his belly. No one else hearing that will know how deep Nick’s been inside him, but Niall can’t help the way his body reacts to the reminder. His skin buzzes hotly, and he reaches down a hand to fumble with his half-hard dick, rubbing it in the confines of his boxers. He thinks he should text Nick back to let him know he’s heard, but Nick’s at work, and Niall can’t say all the filthy things he wants to when Nick’s producers might be looking over his shoulder.

 _You’re overstating the discharge mate,_ he says finally, which will sound bloke-y to anyone casually looking at his phone. Nick sends back an aubergine and then goes silent for long enough for Niall to have a wank and stop feeling paralyzed by dread about his show. At least for a little while.

Nick phones him once he’s off, but Niall’s in a car on the way to the venue, so he has to weigh his words carefully. “Too much?” Nick asks playfully.

Niall looks steadily out the car window. “Depends on how deep you plan on getting. I reckon I can handle it.”

“I know you can. You can handle anything. Even your show tonight.”

He doesn’t mean to smile, but he can’t stop it happening. “I didn’t know if you knew it was today.”

“Yeah,” says Nick fondly. “You’ll be brilliant. Swooning and tears all over.”

“Thanks.”

 

After half a year of Nick’s chatty phone calls, Niall feels like he knows every part of Nick’s life just by the background noise, and it’s nice, being carried around to the supermarket or the park or home from the gym. He doesn’t always need to say much, but sometimes Nick asks about his shows or his band or even golf, which he gets vague ideas about from the news on Radio 1. And Niall likes that he’s trying, even if he’ll never truly care about sport.

Once Niall’s booked for the Big Weekend in May, they talk about that too. Tour’s had him far away, and Nick sounds eager to have him back. Not eager enough to say “I miss you” outright, but it’s there in everything they do say. Being with Nick was an easy choice when he was in London, and now it’s harder, but he keeps making it anyway.

There are plenty of cities where he could go out and get off with a stranger in a club who didn’t care about his name, where he could mime that he didn’t speak German or French and they could communicate through blowjobs instead. He used to like that about touring. But the appeal is much less than it used to be. Instead he texts Nick in his off-hours, or phones him just to hear about his day. He doesn’t take naked pictures of himself on principle, or ask for them from other people, but there’s a part of him that understands the impulse now. He misses the tangible reality of Nick’s body when Nick’s talking to him, especially at night, when he knows Nick’s stayed up just to speak with him, his voice soft and sleepy. In the last few months, he’s come to like the casual intimacy of lying in bed with Nick more than he ever expected.

“Could you come down for the Saturday?” Nick asks.

Niall hunches up in his bed to consider it. “I’d just be underfoot,” he decides. “At least on the Sunday, I can pass the time with Shawn, make sure he’s not doing anything he’ll regret. Again.”

“I wouldn’t say he regretted it. Would you?”

Niall snorts. “I’m sure it was grand.”

“Liam’s on the Saturday. You used to be fond of him, I reckon.”

It’s not that Nick’s wrong. But the thought of spending an afternoon at a festival with Liam when all he can think about is how soon he can sneak off to snog Nick is pretty dismal. He imagines ever confiding in Liam about something like that, but it’s impossible. Liam, for all his good intentions, maybe because of them, can’t keep a secret to save his life. And Niall’s not ready for anything that isn’t a secret. He wonders if Nick expects him to say something to Shawn when they see each other, as though Nick’s an experience they can compare notes on.

“You could come up late, just stay the night and be fresh for the morning.” Nick’s voice is coaxing, much as he’s obviously trying to be nonchalant.

“Would I even see you then? You’ve got work to do.”

“Not late at night. We’ll smuggle you into the hotel. Proper cloak and dagger stuff. Although there’s always a party too, if you like. It’s a bit like uni that way. May not be a good party, but you can always find one.”

There’s a part of Niall that’s charmed by the thought of a Radio 1 party, but he’s almost certain none of the other acts on the bill would turn up, and then someone would ask questions he doesn’t want to make up answers to. “I don’t know,” he says reluctantly, because the risks are great, but he probably won’t see Nick for ages if he misses this chance. “What about after? I’m playing early on the Sunday.”

Nick hums thoughtfully. “I’m off Monday. I could slip off early, meet you in London. I wanted to see Florence, but I’ve seen her before.”

“You’ve seen me before too.”

“You do things Florence doesn’t. Are you leaving straight after you play?”

“I don’t know. I said I’d stay for Shawn, but maybe he wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m sure he’d notice. Imagine his sad little face if he looked over side of stage and you weren’t there supporting him.”

“He’d be alright. He might be more interested in you anyway.” It’s the first time he’s felt even a hint of jealousy about Nick and Shawn at Big Weekend. He’s never thought that jealousy suited him, really, but Nick’s brought it out in him in fierce little bursts. He’s glad when it passes as quickly as it came.

 

Every moment he’s on site is a moment he could see Nick, and he’s on edge with the very possibility as soon as he gets out of the car. Nick hasn’t answered his texts since last night, but there could be any number of reasons for that. Every Radio 1 DJ he sees looks busy or hungover, and either would be a good enough reason for Nick to be slow to phone.

Finally, as he’s warming up in the little section of porta-cabin that functions as his dressing room, his phone buzzes, and he narrowly avoids doing an embarrassing lunge for it across his guitar in front of his band. He wants it to be Nick so badly, but there’s no way he can let anyone see how badly he wants that.

_Too much party last night. Just getting to park now. Still want to see you x_

Niall tries to makes his smile cool and subtle, adds a little chuckle for effect. _You got 20 minutes xx_ , he texts back. And then he tosses the phone to the side like it doesn’t matter and goes back to his warm-ups. Still he can’t hide the thrill of seeing Nick side of stage. He introduces him to the new lads in the band as “my friend Grimmy”, which isn’t exactly wrong, but it feels like getting away with something.

Nick is wearing big sunglasses and leaning on anything that will hold his weight. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Niall hears Nick’s producer, who is managing the main stage, say wonderingly, and he smiles to himself. Nick’s only crawled out of bed because of him.

Niall doesn’t look at him while he’s on, but he’s keenly aware of Nick waiting in the wings. The crowd is huge, shifting like a sea in front of him, and some of them are singing his songs back to him, and it feels like a proper rockstar moment. He likes Nick seeing it, even bleary and hungover.

He comes off stage at the appointed time like clockwork, and Greg’s side of stage as well, waiting with well wishes and smiles, Nick wilting beside him, laughing but barely speaking. His proximity buzzes all over Niall’s skin anyway, and it’s hard not to angle towards him, brush against him. He hasn’t had sex in months, no comfort on tour except his own hands, and all he wants is a dark corner where he can climb Nick like a tree.

“I may actually die if I don’t get a coffee,” says Nick finally.

Niall laughs. “Brave of you to come out here in that state. Where’s a guy get a decent coffee around here?”

“Decent may be asking a lot of BBC catering,” says Greg.

“Do you want to come along?” Niall asks, and he thinks he manages to sound jovial and not reluctant. Under other circumstances, he’d love coffee and a chat with Greg as well as Nick.

Greg shakes his head. “I’ve got more to do here,” he says. “But you were brilliant to watch up there.”

Niall hugs him, Greg bending down for it. “Keep in touch, best friend,” Niall tells him.

“Always,” says Greg with a laugh.

Niall waves as he walks off, Nick following him gingerly. Nowhere seems far enough away for what he wants. “Are you alright?” he asks Nick, pausing in the grassy no man’s land behind the stage. “Well enough to be here?”

“Yeah,” says Nick, and his hand brushes Niall’s arm in a vague gesture of appreciation. “Look terrible though. Wouldn’t want anyone I fancied seeing me in this state. It’d put them right off.”

“It might not,” replies Niall. He can imagine kissing Nick, just like this, leaning up until he can catch Nick’s mouth with his. How bad would it be to do that really? The people here are other people’s crew and Radio 1 staff, professionals. They might not even say anything. He tilts his chin up, almost as if he could.

But Nick shies away. “Don’t tempt me,” he says, fingertips against the inside of Niall’s elbow. Niall’s situational awareness crashes as he looks up into Nick’s face. An entire camera crew could be passing by, and he’s probably broadcasting exactly how much he wants to kiss Nick.

“Can we go somewhere?” Niall asks urgently. “Is there anywhere we can go?”

“Yeah,” says Nick. “I think so.” He moves slowly but purposefully between crates of equipment and backup dancers doing stretches, past Niall’s porta-cabin dressing room and around a corner to another porta-cabin, smaller and apparently quieter. “This is very unprofessional, just so you know.”

“Sorry. Should we not?”

Nick shrugs and tugs him up the step to the door by his wrist. Inside is a warren of little offices, all of them empty. Nick picks one apparently at random and shuts the door behind them. The blind on the window makes everything dim, and they find each other in the half-light, Nick’s big hands cupping Niall’s face as he draws him in for a kiss. Niall reaches out a hand to steady himself against the door, and Nick presses him back into it, holds him there with the weight of his body, the persuasion of his greater height, so that Niall feels enveloped in him. Nick tastes like toothpaste and Diet Coke, a brave attempt at getting past his hangover, and Niall’s so glad to have him. They kiss until he feels weak-kneed and tingly, and he was hard from the first moment Nick touched his arm, but now he’s aching, hips jostling into Nick’s thigh.

“You ever done it in an office before?” Nick asks, eying the anonymous looking desks.

Niall shakes his head. “Not opposed to it though.” He wants Nick to fuck him right here, leave him sore and filthy afterwards, carry that around as a secret while he’s watching other bands and chatting to other radio DJs the rest of the day. He wishes he’d come better prepared. But there’s this little part of him that wants Nick to fuck him bare, push into him with only spit to ease the way. He thinks about saying that, but the words catch on his tongue and he kisses Nick again instead.

Nick’s hands stray down to his hips, gripping at the waist of his trousers. And he’s still sweaty from the stage, damp down the inside of his thighs, vest sticking across his shoulders under his shirt. “Maybe it’s that offices aren’t your native habitat,” Nick murmurs between kisses. “Maybe you like it better in that popstar afterglow, when you can still hear all those people calling out your name. You’ve played to crowds like this before, and all of them out there gagging for it. Maybe that’s what gets you off.”

Niall wants to indulge the fantasy, but the truth is the anxiety of finding someone who could keep a secret in a town where thousands of people just stared at his face for an hour and a half has always been too much. He smiles, bashful. “Sounds like maybe it’s what gets you off.”

Nick looks at him for a long, heated moment, and then he goes down on his knees and starts working on Niall’s flies. It’s not graceful, but it’s quick and decisive, and Niall reaches down to touch his face, run his fingers through Nick’s hair as Nick tugs his trousers and pants down his thighs, letting Niall’s cock out free. He doesn’t say anything else before taking the head into his mouth, just resting it on his tongue as Niall groans softly. He wants to pull Nick closer by his hair, but he keeps his hand gentle against Nick’s scalp instead, letting Nick tease around the edge of his foreskin with the tip of his tongue before he slowly takes Niall in deeper. Nick’s hand spreads open against the sensitive skin of Niall’s lower belly, pushing him back against the door, thumb and forefinger delicately avoiding his aching cock.

As much as Niall tries to stay quiet and still under Nick’s mouth, when Nick’s other hand cups his balls and strokes his taint, it’s a lost cause. “Put your fingers in me,” he says breathlessly, his arsehole twitching. Nick looks up, offers Niall two of his long fingers to suck, although Niall has to bend his head down to catch them in his mouth.

It’s not wet enough, but the burn as Nick works him open just makes him harder. He’ll feel this all the way back to London where Nick can fuck him properly. And he’ll think about it the whole rest of the day, knowing what’s coming. Nick swallows around his cock, knuckles scraping at Niall’s rim as he angles his fingers right up against Niall’s prostate. Niall moans, startled by the high, desperate sound of it, and he stumbles out a warning before he comes in Nick’s mouth. Nick shuts his eyes and swallows, pulls his fingers out but keeps his mouth on Niall’s cock until Niall starts to squirm uncomfortably from the contact. Then he presses a kiss to the softest part of Niall’s belly and gets slowly to his feet.

“Pretend you didn’t just hear me groan like an old man standing up,” he says, with his mouth close enough to kiss again.

Niall nuzzles his cheek. He’s in someone else’s office with his trousers around his knees, and he feels so satisfied he can barely keep the grin off his face. “I’ve heard worse,” he says. “Here, let me…” And his own knees aren’t too pleased by the floor, but he just goes on ahead getting Nick’s jeans open, returning the favour.

Nick kisses him afterward, lingeringly and tasting of come. “We should probably go. Someone’s going to need to file something or look at a spreadsheet eventually.”

Niall pulls his trousers up. The thought should be terrifying, his biggest secret right there on display—and Nick would probably be in trouble as well—but he’s too happy to feel anxious yet. They slip out of the porta-cabin after one last kiss. 

“How bad do I look?” Nick asks. His cheeks are still flushed, and his lips are darkened and even more kissable.

“You’re hungover. No one knows what you got up to last night.” Niall runs a hand through his own hair, trying to rearrange it from whatever Nick’s fingers have done to it. “How about me?”

“You look gorgeous,” Nick replies, eyes running up and down Niall’s body. “Deeply shaggable popstar.”

“Not deeply shagged?”

Nick smirks. “Not yet. You coming to mine tonight?”

Niall swallows. “You could come to mine instead. It seems weird you’ve never been and there’s no one there tonight.”

Nick touches his wrist, tapping one fingertip there. “That’d be lovely. All those decorative pillows. And I bet your shower’s dead nice.”

“You can try it out. Have you got anything on tomorrow?”

“Not a goddamn thing.” It’s so hard not to kiss him as they part ways and Niall goes off to find someplace to wash his hands. He sees Nick once more in the afternoon, while he’s loitering by the main stage watching Shawn’s set. Nick bumps his shoulder into Niall’s in a friendly way, Greg on Niall’s other side making him feel tongue-tied. There’s every excuse to watch and not talk, but Niall can’t help but imagine what it would be like to just slip his arm around Nick’s waist and hang onto him, the kind of thing he wouldn’t hesitate to do with a girl.

Niall hangs around long enough to see Shawn offstage with a hug, tries not to stare at Nick hugging him as well, even though Shawn has claimed he’s fully over hooking up with Nick. They haven’t talked about it much because Niall’s poker face is good but not that good, but he can’t help thinking about it sometimes, the fact that Shawn got there first. He shifts distractedly, remembering Nick’s fingers inside him, and Nick looks at him for a second over Shawn’s shoulder before he lets go. Niall lingers a little while longer, but in his head, he’s already back in London.

 

The flat feels stale and too quiet when he gets there, the way it always does when he comes home alone, but the emptiness is comforting. He takes a proper shower and makes himself a coffee and settles in on the sofa to wait for Nick’s text. He thinks about wanking, his hand straying to his dick all the time he’s looking at the telly, fidgety with anticipation. Blowing Nick in a temporary office just gave him a taste for the sort of thing he’s been missing.

When Nick turns up, he still looks a bit worse for wear, dressed in the same t-shirt and ripped jeans from earlier and carrying a rucksack, his previously sleek hair wilting. They barely get the door shut before Niall’s got his arms around Nick’s neck and they’re kissing. Nick’s hands fist in the back of Niall’s t-shirt, pulling him in desperately close, and Niall clings in just the same way. The afternoon feels impossibly distant, and before that was months without this.

Nick pins him against the door and slides his thigh between Niall’s, and it makes Niall feel small and turns him on so much he can’t help grinding down on Nick’s leg, practically riding it right there in the hall. He kisses Nick sloppily, hanging on until he’s breathless, feeling Nick’s erection nudging at his hip when he arches up.

“Come to bed,” he manages. “I want you to fuck me.”

Nick steps back reluctantly. “Just look at the state of you.”

He knows how Nick means it, but he glances at the hall mirror anyway, his flushed cheeks and wet mouth standing out sharply. And Nick’s no better off. He’s never done this in his own house, and every moment guiding Nick to the bedroom is a slight readjustment, Nick’s fingers twined through his telling him this is just what he wants too. The plush carpet in the hall to the master suite muffles their footsteps as Nick guides him into another kiss, easy and thorough. Stepping through the door to the master bedroom is like entering a new country, and he waits for Nick to judge the scenery. Niall never set this up as a room to have sex in. He had to put condoms in the bedside drawer this evening so it would seem like they’d always been there. It may look cold and empty to someone whose house feels so warm and lived in.

“Dead posh,” declares Nick, chin tucked against Niall’s shoulder and arms around Niall’s waist from behind. “Look at the size of that bed. You’d need a map just to get out of it.”

“I won’t let you get lost.”

Nick kisses the side of his neck. “And it’s alright if I stay?”

“I hope you will.”

There’s more kissing then, slow and lazy, Nick’s hands on Niall’s bum pulling him in close. Niall thinks he should advance his cause, but it’s so nice just kissing Nick, leaning into the familiar lines of his body. He smells like an all-day mix of sweat and sun cream and his usual cologne up close, and Niall breathes him in greedily, mouthing down the side of Nick’s neck.

“Wait,” says Nick shakily. “Love, I need a shower. I thought it would be a bit, like, grotty, post-festival shag, but not in your big posh bed with you fresh as a daisy.”

Niall shows Nick to the bathroom with its shower stall that's always seemed too big for one person. "Use anything in there, if you like."

"Do you want come in and supervise?" Nick asks, trailing his fingers down Niall's back.

Niall shifts towards his hand. "I just had a shower before you got here. So I might just go and, like, get things ready in there." He shrugs one shoulder toward the bedroom.

"Romantic," says Nick. "I'll be out in a minute."

Niall undresses in the bedroom and gets in bed naked. He wonders if he should turn the lights off, but then he imagines Nick coming out of the bathroom and seeing him there, and he leaves them on. A condom and bottle of lube go on top of the folded back duvet, and Niall fidgets with them, wondering what arrangement would be just right, even though Nick probably won’t notice, hopefully won’t notice with Niall laid out like a gift in bed. He’s hard just thinking about it, the moment Nick comes out of the bathroom and catches sight of him, and he rubs a dry hand over the plump shape of his cock against his belly. Nick’s still in the shower, judging by the echo of his wavery singing, and Niall reaches out for the lube again, feeling bold.

He eases one slick finger into his arse, then another, arching up into the stretch of them, curling his fingertips up into the swell of his prostate. He does this when he’s alone, occasionally, but it’s more complicated than just a wank, and lately he can’t do it without thinking of Nick. He looks at toys sometimes, in a private browsing window on his phone, but then he imagines his cleaner running across a buttplug while tidying the bedroom, and it’s enough to put him off. So he makes do, with this like so many other things.

He twists his fingers a little, working up to a third. Another squelch of lube and he’s there, three fingers deep in his own arse. He squeezes down on them, fucks them in and out a few times to feel the stretch of his knuckles on the rim of his arsehole. It’s good, good enough that he bends his knees into an inelegant sprawl and curls in on himself a little more, trying to get deeper. If he touched his cock, just a few quick tugs, he could come, but he holds off instead, pulling out to rub his fingertips over the slick, sensitive mess of his hole. The sound of the shower cuts out abruptly, although Nick’s singing continues, toneless and cheerful. Niall dips his fingertips inside again, imagining Nick appearing in the doorway, seeing how ready he is.

When Nick finally comes round the corner from the bathroom, Niall looks up, and the moment is as good as he thought it might be. Nick stops dead, whatever he was about to say vanishing in an instant as he looks at Niall with three fingertips tucked into his arse.

“Hey,” says Niall, trying for casual but coming out choked.

“I didn’t realise you were getting such a head start,” Nick replies. He’s naked, and Niall can’t stop looking at his cock, rising up half-hard between his legs. It bobs a little as he comes closer, and Niall alternates snatching glances at it with looking up at Nick’s face, desire written all over it.

“You get ready in your way, I get ready in mine.”

Nick sits down on the bed beside him, placing one hand high up on the inside of Niall’s thigh, fingers brushing against the sensitive sac of Niall’s balls. “Can I help?” he asks, as though it’s a normal, casual question. He smells like Niall’s body wash, and his hair is damp and softly curling.

Niall licks his lips and nods. “Go on.”

Nick slides his hand up higher, tangles his fingers with Niall’s where they press inside, and the stretch of it is glorious and nearly painful, Nick’s long fingers sharing the sensitive space inside him. He makes a little noise, and Nick leans in to kiss the straining line of his throat. His teeth graze on the flutter of Niall’s pulse, and Niall imagines the mark he could leave. Already Nick’s making claims on his body, coaxing his skin to life and making him ache in a way he’ll feel tomorrow. He pulls his own fingers out of his arse, lets Nick replace them, three of Nick’s fingers so much bigger, so much deeper in. But not as good as Nick’s cock, not as good as what he’s been waiting for. Niall squirms a little as Nick moves in him, feeling out the throb of his prostate. He’s so easy for it.

Niall catches the condom between two fingers, holds it up to get Nick’s attention, but Nick’s still got his face buried in the side of Niall’s neck as he fingerfucks Niall’s arse in a steady, devastating rhythm. Niall’s never come just from being fingered, but Nick’s going at it with purpose, and Niall’s whole body is electric, every nerve singing as Nick’s fingers curl and press and turn, opening him up inside.

“Please,” Niall gasps out, wriggling against Nick’s hand, aching for it.

Nick presses a distracted kiss to his mouth and pulls his fingers out, the shock of emptiness making Niall’s slick hole clench on nothing. “Look at you, love,” Nick says gently. “What a sight you are.”

Niall’s too undone to even think how he looks, but the next moment Nick is reaching for the condom and rolling it onto his straining cock, and it doesn’t matter because Nick is finally, finally fucking into him, pressing the head of his cock to Niall’s hole and pushing. Niall opens up to him, and Nick sinks into him and stays, just for a moment. Niall’s knees come up, squeezing on Nick’s hips as he pulls out, and the next thrust in is deeper, harder, hard enough that both of them make a sound. Nick kisses him, sloppy and rough with teeth, and Niall curls a hand at the nape of his neck, licking at his mouth. He feels overwhelmed already, shaky and on the edge of orgasm, and every move Nick makes just winds him tighter. He doesn’t even try to touch himself, just lets his cock rub in the humid space between their bellies, already knowing it will be enough. It won’t even take long.

 

"Can I tell you a secret?" Nick says in the dark, and it throws Niall back to nights in shared hotel rooms when he and the lads could say almost anything as long as they didn't look at each other.

"Course," he replies, Nick's heart thumping under his cheek. Nick's fingers slide through his hair, stroking thoughtfully.

"It's a proper secret though. You can't tell anyone, not even your mum."

"Is it a secret that concerns my mum?"

"Dunno. Probably not." He sighs. His heartbeat is making Niall nervous, and Niall wants to lift his head to get away from it, the intimate evidence that Nick's bothered by something. "What I mean is, don't tell Harry."

"Oh. I won't."

He clears his throat, and Niall presses a kiss to his chest. "Greg's taking my job."

Niall can feel Nick's sadness in the pit of his stomach. "What are you doing then?"

"Taking his job. We're swapping spots. They're going to announce it properly in a couple of weeks. It's just tough not talking about it when you're used to talking all the bloody time."

"Better sleep schedule, isn't it?"

"A lot better. Never waking up in the dark, lazy mornings tucked up in bed with anyone who might want to stay the night, all sorts of perks."

"But that's not everything that makes the job," Niall says sympathetically. He chances a look up at Nick's face, but their eyes catch in the dark.

"What do you do when you've had your dream job for six years and then it's over?" Nick asks, the question reverberating in Niall's chest. He understands why he’s not to tell Harry: after six years, Harry was ready to go. It doesn't sound like Nick was. Niall knows he wasn’t, clinging to the band by his fingernails right up to the end in case there wasn’t anything else for him.

"Maybe you fuck around on holiday until you start missing the parts of the job you liked the best. And then you know what parts they were. And then you find a way to get them back.” It’s very straightforward in hindsight, although it had mostly felt like jumping of a cliff at the time.

“I don’t know if there are parts like that, with the radio. I mean, I’ll still be on the radio, and that’s the bit I always knew I liked. Chatting and playing songs, it’s the best job in the world.”

“So maybe you just go on along like you haven’t lost anything.”

Nick’s lips purse into a flat line, and Niall wonders if he’s going to cry. He’s never seen Nick cry. “I have though.”

“I know.” Niall wants to say something helpful, something more. “I didn’t know who I was without the band at first. It was like there wasn’t enough to me on my own, without all the context.”

Nick makes an affirming little noise and runs his hand down Niall’s back.

“And that was a bit nice, for things like getting off with strangers where there was no reason to be myself. But there’s more to life than sex,” he adds with mock solemnity. “You’ll need to learn that.”

“Is there?” Nick asks with a laugh. “That can’t be right, can it?”

“Maybe not. Point is though, you’ll land on your feet. And I’m here for a listening ear, now that I know.” 

“It won’t be a secret soon,” Nick says wearily. “But thanks. It’s nice, someone knowing. I haven’t told my mum yet. I told my parents first when I got Breakfast. Them and my friend Aimee, but she’s married to my old producer now, so it’s weirder. And Harry.”

Niall doesn’t know how he’s supposed to take that. Six years ago, Harry was one of the most important people in Nick’s life. He kisses Nick’s chin and lets Nick continue.

“It’s easier to tell your mum things when they’re good, when they’re only good. I’ve never been more excited in my life than I was getting Breakfast. And now this is just, shifting about. My boss keeps saying that. It’s just shifting the schedule. But it definitely feels like one of us is winning, and it isn’t me.”

Niall presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth this time, lingers there until Nick’s mouth relaxes a little under his. “It will be good though. It’ll be good in ways you can’t even imagine now. And I’ll probably come along to your show and give you an exclusive interview.”

Nick looks at him, properly looks at him, and smiles. “What sort of things will you talk about in our exclusive interview?”

“All sorts of rubbish. What would you like us to talk about?”

“Not golf,” says Nick, and Niall laughs. 

“Not sure I can entirely avoid that. There’s a lot happening in the world of golf.”

“There is absolutely never a lot happening in the world of golf. That’s the whole problem with golf. Time just crawls along while people wander about in awful trousers. That’s hardly even a sport.”

“You say that as though you’ve ever in your life taken an interest in sport.”

“I quite like sport when there’s an event, summat you can have a barbecue for. World Cup’s on in a minute. I’ll like that.”

“Sad I won’t be here to see it. Grimshaw football fever. Hard to believe.”

“The rest of my family’s mad for it year round. Proper sporty. They’d love you.” He pauses as though he wants to take it back, then barges on instead. “You support someone stupid though, don’t you?”

“Nothing stupid about Derby County.”

“I literally couldn’t even find that on a map. My whole family’s Man U supporters. That’s where we’re _from_. You’re from Ireland.”

Niall shrugs. “Geography isn’t the only thing that makes you support a football team. And I can find it on a map for you if you like.”

“Not necessary. I wouldn’t know a football if it bit me anyway.”

“They don’t bite very often,” Niall laughs.

“And that’s exactly the sort of thing I need you here to tell me.”

 

"Look," says Nick quietly, and Niall opens his eyes as though there's something to see. But it's just his lounge, candlelight and soft music, like he'd have it on his own, but it looks intentional with Nick here, Niall’s back against his chest in the corner of the sofa. They’ve been in mostly the same position all day, with brief breaks for food and coffee. "Look, this doesn't have to mean anything, but I'm going to say it anyway." Niall holds his breath. "My life is going to change quite a lot soon, and I'm going to be less knackered all the time, and once that happens I think having a boyfriend would be nice. So that's something I'd like."

Niall stares at the candle on the coffee table, keeps very still as though that will help somehow. "Not sure which way to take that, if I'm honest."

"I think it's an invitation. Or, like, a job offer. If you’d rather."

"My tour's on through September. I'm at loose ends after that."

"September's when I start on afternoons. And if we try it and it's shit, we can just stop and pretend we didn't."

“If we stopped then though,” Niall begins, and he doesn’t like the way his throat goes tight thinking about it, “it would be so you could find, like, a different boyfriend, right? I would just be… someone you ask round for a barbecue sometimes?”

Nick doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and in the space the song on the stereo fades to an end, leaving total silence. “Fuck,” says Nick finally. “That sounds shit, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” agrees Niall. “It sounds fucking awful.” He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, the possibility of that loss. He doesn’t know if he could bear seeing Nick with someone else now.

“Don’t laugh,” says Nick. “But is it possible you’re already my boyfriend?”

“Possible,” says Niall. “I haven’t been going out while I’ve been on tour. I don’t know if I said.” He knows he hasn’t said, hasn’t wanted to make a big thing of it. But there’s no point in Nick not knowing now, if they’re going to talk about it anyway. He wonders if Nick can feel him shaking, a small vibration that seems to radiate out from his racing heart.

“I don’t think so. Was that, like, because of this?”

“I don’t know. It might have been. I never told myself it was, but maybe I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“I don’t go out much anyway, but I haven’t either. Not for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll admit, quite a lot of it is just laziness, when you’ve got to be up at five most mornings.”

“You always say that, but I always ran into you out and about. You never seemed to just be at home.”

“You’ll see,” says Nick. “If you stay in London, it’ll just be evenings round mine forever. There’ll be fewer other gigs once I’m not on Breakfast anymore too, I expect. ‘Demoted to drivetime’ hasn’t got the same ring to it on a flier.” He sighs. “Sorry, I’m trying not to wallow in it.”

“You probably didn’t want half those posh DJ gigs anyway.”

“And I don’t need to run into you at parties anymore.”

“Thank god. All those nights out, just hoping you would turn up and want to speak to me.” It was never really true, but he remembers the relief of seeing Nick during fashion week, and it’s not all hyperbole either.

“Long wait sometimes, wasn’t it?” says Nick. “There are a lot of parties I don’t go to. Probably more parties than the ones I do go to.”

“Well, it don’t much matter now. I’ve got you, more or less.”

“More,” Nick admits. “It’s more not less.”

Niall shifts until he can kiss Nick’s mouth, soft and familiar. There’s so much that scares him about naming this a relationship, trying to build something real and on-going. It’s not as simple as saying the words. “Can you have a boyfriend even if no one knows it?”

“Is this one of those tree-falls-in-a-forest things? Or is it a real question?”

“Real question.”

“The other person has to know it. You can’t say to yourself, ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ and he doesn’t know that’s what he is. But no one’s housemate has to know. No one’s family either.” Nick’s expression is soft with understanding, and Niall squirms under it. Nick’s been out for so long, and Niall feels like maybe he’s a step backward, no matter what they call it.

“I don’t know when I’d be able to tell anyone. If we… if you’re really my boyfriend.”

“I know. I’ve thought about that.”

“Yeah?”

Nick’s hand slides under his t-shirt, rubbing at his hip. “Everybody’s been through it, not being out. I’ve been with a lot of men who didn’t want to be gay in public, and I know it’s not a choice they can make for me. The nearest thing I ever had to a long-term boyfriend, his family was very religious, and he thought he could never, ever tell them. And it was bad, but it was bad because he was so angry and scared of what would happen. And with someone like that, if you try to get too involved, they’re just going to break your heart, so it’s better to go for a one-off.”

“I am scared,” Niall admits. Sometimes he thinks about the cameras that follow him nearly everywhere, about every single move he makes being prelude to a tabloid article if the story is juicy enough. All he can do is not give them ammunition, and he’s got a whole team to help, but they don’t know everything about him either. “I don’t know what would happen if I told the truth.”

“I know. And you can’t. You can’t know what you’d lose. But you don’t…” Nick casts around for the words. “You’re not mean because of it. You don’t take it out on me.”

“I try not to,” Niall says.

“A lot of people don’t try.”

Niall always thinks about Nick as more put-together than he is, more straightforward, with less emotional baggage rattling around behind him. He hasn’t spent a lot of time wondering what Nick might need that he doesn’t mention. “I’m sorry.”

“All I’m saying is, I understand where you are, and it’s alright. It’s so much better than it could be. Which doesn’t sound like much to say, but it means the world. It really does.” He sounds as shaky as Niall feels, and Niall closes his eyes as Nick presses a kiss to his temple.

“I thought I had you all worked out, but I didn’t know about all that.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re my boyfriend, maybe there’s some stuff you should know. But probably in little bits. I’m not much for grand confessions.”

“Me too. I haven’t got any insights about me and old boyfriends though. I’m just going to feel my way along until you’re heartily sick of me.”

“It’ll be a while then,” Nick replies.

Niall turns in his arms to kiss him properly, and Nick smiles into it, cupping a hand around Niall’s chin.

*

It's the first time he's been at Radio 1 without a bodyguard or PA or someone from management, and he feels strangely untethered as he steps out of the lift, like he might be someone else entirely. It's late enough in the day that the offices are largely empty, a few stragglers obscured behind computer screens, and no one comes out to speak to him. Nick's in a different studio than he used to be, but it's the same as the last one inside, and when Nick spots him through the window he smiles and holds up one finger for Niall to wait. He looks happy and comfortable and still a little bit tan, a month out from his holidays, leaning into his mic, eyes shifting back to the computer in front of him. He puts on a song and beckons Niall into the studio.

"Niall Horan, as I live and breathe," he says in his worst Irish accent, and Niall practically dives into a hug, ignoring Nick's producer over his shoulder for a moment before he pulls away. He's been thinking about kissing Nick literally all day, and he hopes Nick knows it without him saying. 

He's introduced to the producer and assistant producer and pointed towards a chair in the corner as Annie Mac walks into the studio, slows down to recognize him.

"You two have met, haven't you?" Nick says. "Apart from on Switch or summat? Young Niall and I are going for our tea after the show."

"Nice to see you, Niall," Annie says, reaching out to shake his hand before reconsidering and hugging him instead.

"Same to you, Annie."

"Make Grim take you somewhere nice, alright? Don't settle for a McDonalds."

Nick makes an outraged noise. "He's an international popstar, Annie MacManus! He better be taking _me_ someplace nice."

“High maintenance,” Niall tells Annie.

“He always has been, from the day I met him.”

“I’m very consistent,” says Nick. He sits back down at the desk and puts his headphones on with a pointed look at them both. When he fades the song down, he and Annie chat about what’s going on on her show, but his eyes keep straying to Niall in the corner, and Niall can only pretend to be dawdling on his phone as Nick explains a friend is taking him for dinner. The fact is, Niall’s counting down the minutes to seven o’clock, and food is the least of his concerns right now. He's got a boyfriend he hasn't seen all summer, and it’s going to be all he can do not to jump him in the lift.

“Ready to go?” Nick says at five minutes past. “I’m starving.”

Niall knows exactly what he means.


End file.
